


You Drive Me Round The Bend

by TheCellarDoor



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Angry Sex, Blow Jobs, Car Accidents, Car Sex, Co-workers, Hate to Love, I'm gonna have to repent for this after I die aren't I, M/M, Musician Harry, One Night Stands, Rich Louis, Rimming, bc what kind of larry fic would this be if it didn't, but they're both okay, kind of, so much banter and bickering you don't even know, they're very generous to each other, which then turns into mutual dislike which turns into 'please let me have your babies'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-23 06:45:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 77,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2538113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCellarDoor/pseuds/TheCellarDoor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Louis is a spoilt rich kid who’s always on the phone while he drives and Harry is a struggling musician making his way down the mountain. It’s just a matter of time before they crash and burn.</p>
<p>(One-shot turned into a chaptered fic!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [You Drive Me Round The Bend](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4763396) by [edgeofmyinnocence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/edgeofmyinnocence/pseuds/edgeofmyinnocence)
  * Translation into Italiano available: [You Drive Me Round The Bend || Italian Translation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7734673) by [always_strong28](https://archiveofourown.org/users/always_strong28/pseuds/always_strong28)



> I SAW THE PICTURES OF LOUIS BENT OVER ASTON MARTIN AND I HAD TO DO THIS
> 
> Massive thank you to nolagal18 on Tumblr for helping me edit this on such short notice! 
> 
> A ginormous thank you to Giselle aka keepcalmandreadfic for offering me an incredible amount of support and great advice that makes this story a thousand times better than it would have been without her help. <3
> 
> All the mistakes are mine. 
> 
> P. S.: I made small edits in the first chapter to make it more of a chaptered fic material!

“So I was like, fuck no, I won’t drink down this watered down swill when I can get a finely matured glass of whiskey instead, yeah? And do you know what he said to me? Do you?” Louis snorted into his headset, waited for his best mate’s obligatory “What?” as he raced up the curve of the LA mountain, wind blowing through his hair and a lit cigarette between his fingers. “He called me a stuck up prick. Can you believe it?”

“Glad I didn’t go then. Sounds like a bore,” Zayn answered.

“You should be.” March was on the precipice of slipping into April and the sun was starting to turn blistering hot again as it beat down on the tar stretching ahead and the newly shined hood of his brand new Aston Martin. “You didn’t miss anything. The music was shit. Poor pickings too. I didn’t even pull anyone.”

“Well, you’re—” Zayn’s voice cut out momentarily, “you don’t anyway.”

“Wait, what? Shit. Hold on a sec.” 

The road up ahead was empty. Louis took one last drag and flicked the cigarette onto the road before reaching down to unplug his phone and yanking the headset off, tossing it carelessly to the seat beside him. 

“Fucking mountain with its shitty fucking signal.”

He could vaguely hear Zayn’s voice through the earpiece and rolled his eyes as he looked down on his phone, because couldn’t he wait one bloody second?

As he rounded the corner and glanced up, he froze, phone halfway up to his ear.

****

Harry drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, singing Madonna’s _Like a Virgin_ at the top of his lungs. The AC was broken and the stuffy air made his vest stick to his sweaty back, so he rolled down the window of his car even though he knew it always got jammed and pulling it back up would take effort. Well, the effort of charming Liam into fixing it for him (once again), but still. Effort. When the wind finally burst in through the crack at the top of the window and hit his overheated face, he groaned and turned his face towards the source. Well worth some metaphorical arse licking. Fuck, it was so bloody hot.

He zoomed down the mountain, singing, _“Gonna give you all my love, boy. My fear is fading fast.”_

It wasn’t until he veered around the corner that a silver bullet of a car appeared seemingly out of nowhere, coming straight at him at a speed well over the limit, a boy with a phone in his hand sitting behind the wheel.

_‘Been saving it all for you ‘cause only love can last,’_ blared out of the shitty speakers. Harry’s eyes went wide, his grip on the steering wheel turning his knuckles bone white as he jerked the wheel to the side, because if he didn’t, that boy was going to fly right off the mountain.

_‘You’re so fine’_ barely drowned out by his own deafening scream was the last thing he heard before they collided.

****

“Louis? Louis!” The phone flew out of his hand as he yanked the wheel to the side to avoid collision, realising too late that he was not on a bloody highway but on a mountain with a drop so high, he would—he was going to die.

He squeezed his eyes shut and felt the impact of smashing into something so hard it knocked the breath out of his lungs.

He wasn’t dead. Numb all over, heart hammering against his ribcage so hard he was waiting for it to jump out of his throat and splatter in his lap, but… he wasn’t flying. Was still on solid ground, shaking so much his grip kept sliding off the wheel and his teeth clattered. His ears still rang with the tinny sound of metal smashing into metal.

He blinked his eyes open, momentarily blinded by the glare of the sun bouncing off the hood of his car, which had been smashed in like a cheap beer can. Fuck. Holy fucking shit. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He could have _died._

He had to fight his way out of the car past the airbags, managed to push past with a surprising burst of willpower, considering he was shaking so hard his knees were about to give out. 

He slammed the door shut, the sun too sharp, too bright.

“Hey!” someone called. Someone tall and curly and tan, dressed in nothing but too-tight skinny jeans and a black loose vest and the stupidest hat Louis had ever seen. “Hey you! Are you okay?”

“What the fuck have you done?!” Louis yelled, pulse steadily climbing up. How much before he’d get a heart attack? Or see his too expensive lunch for the second time? Because he was not going to throw up in front of this sad excuse of a hipster. Even if he had better legs than most of the runway models Louis had shagged in the past few years. Maybe especially because of that. 

Louis could feel his eyes well up, couldn’t decide whether he wanted to break down in the middle of the road or grab the other bloke by his throat and just… fuck. Fuck him or fuck him _up_. “You could have killed me!”

Hipster Dude looked shocked, too big mouth half open, pausing in his step as he screeched, “What? _I_ could have killed _you_? I saved your bloody life! You’d have flown right off the mountain if I hadn’t smashed into you!”

“You ruined my fucking car!” His voice broke on the last syllable because he wasn’t used to yelling like this. He wasn’t used to people talking back. And he was certainly not swallowing back helpless tears. His car. His _baby_. “Do you have any idea how much this thing cost? Do you, you bloody ingrate? It’s brand fucking new!” His father was going to kill him. He was going to hire an assassin that would poison Louis when he’d least expect it and then bury his body in their back garden, right behind the golf course. Louis hated golf.

Hipster Dude just… he _laughed_. Bent over at the waist and slapped his knees as if this was some kind of hidden-camera prank and he’d got Louis good. With the bursts of adrenaline hitting him in waves, Louis was pretty sure he could take the bloke on even if he turned out to be a homicidal maniac.

“Are you seriously laughing right now? What the fuck is wrong with you?!” He was not going to laugh once Louis called his father’s lawyer to sue the boy’s skinnies off. 

Louis still couldn’t feel his limbs, could barely register any pain. What was wrong with _him_?

Maybe he really had died. Maybe they were both just ghosts chatting each other up in the middle of nowhere, oblivious. Louis was not going to go towards the light. Not before he somehow managed to notify Zayn to clear Louis’ Internet history. 

“I just,” the bloke wheezed, dropped down to sit on the asphalt road, lifting his gaze to meet Louis’. “I can’t believe I’m not dead. And that you’re not dead.”

That was still up for debate. 

Louis strode right over, didn’t break the too weirdly intense eye contact even when he stopped to stand above the guy as he most likely did in every aspect of his life. His car was a rusty garbage bin on wheels. Their chests frantically rose and fell in tandem. “No thanks to you! If you weren’t going down this mountain in the first place I would never have—”

“You weren’t even in the right lan—”

“—smashed into you! The repair is going to cost a fortune. And they’ll take at least a week. What am I supposed to do without a car for a week—”

“Hey, you might want to—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Louis spat out, breathing so hard he was light headed, the bloke’s lids hooded as he lifted his chin, gaze dead set on Louis in a quiet, unrelenting challenge.

“I was just going to—”

“Do you ever stop talking?” 

Louis’ hands shook.

“Your car,” Hipster Dude said, licked over his lips, arching his eyebrow as if Louis was some kind of idiot. He was not the idiot here. He was the only one clearly—

Wait. What was that sound?

He broke the impromptu staring contest to glance over his shoulder and froze for the second time within the last five minutes. No. No, no, no!

“No.”

The wheels of his car slowly started turning and gathering speed. The gravel scrunched beneath the tires. Louis watched dumbly as his 250,000-dollar car with customised leather interior and the sickest, newest gadgets drove itself down the road and off the mountain shoulder.

Dead or not, his life was officially over either way.

“Well, I did try to tell you. Can’t believe you didn’t put your brakes on.”

Louis was unexplainably both half-hard and tearing up. Great. “Fuck off.”

“All right.”

Louis was still staring at the spot where his car used to be when he heard the guy get to his feet behind him. That grunt did _nothing_ to Louis. 

His skin had been sizzling ever since he’d got out of the car.

****

“As delightful as this have been, I have to go.” If Harry’s car still worked. If it didn’t, Harry’s dramatic exit would have turned sour very fast. 

He needed to leave, like, right the fuck now. He felt off. Like his heart hadn’t slowed down ever since the impact and his dick hadn’t got the memo that now was not a good time to be acting out. He tried to shake off the shiver of lust slinking down his spine, telling himself _it’s just shock, I’m in shock._

“Where are you going?” the boy asked. Who even wore a bloody suit at lunchtime?, Harry thought. With a trench coat? Voluntarily? If there was one thing Harry despised about LA, it was boys like these. With their uppity attitude and money spilling out of their pockets while Harry had to slave away at an organic bakery during the day and bartend at night just so he could scrape by enough to pay for luxuries such as rent and food. When he got rich and famous and played stadiums all over the world, he vowed to never, ever become one of them.

“Home,” he said and climbed back into his car, only to have Rich Boy trail after him like a lost puppy, mouth twisted with self-entitled disbelief. Harry wanted to bite his mouth. 

“So what, you’re just going to leave me here?”

Harry turned the key in the ignition, a relieved sigh rolling off his shoulders when the engine sputtered to life. He was vaguely aware that his body should have been throbbing with dull pain, but he couldn’t feel anything. Couldn’t stop the buzz of his skin, his brain whirring so fast it made him dizzy. “You did tell me to fuck off. So… that’s what I’m doing.”

“But I—” Harry watched with interest as the boy’s face turned red. “You owe me!”

Was this boy for real? Was he really so far up his own arse he no longer saw anything or anyone but himself? “I saved your life, which… I still haven’t heard a thank you. I don’t owe you anything more.”

Rich Boy’s jaw clenched. Harry pretended not to notice the cut of his cheekbones or the tendons jumping in his cheeks. No. Just… no. He was done with assholes. One of the reasons he’d been in a dry spell for months now. He deserved _better._

“Look, I’m not completely heartless,” Harry said, foot hovering over the gas pedal as he tossed a bottle of water out of the window. It rolled past Louis to the edge of the road. “Happy walking.”

He was pressing down on the pedal when Rich Boy’s hands slapped down on his window, eyes desperate.

“Come on, don’t be a twat! If you give me a ride I won’t sue you.”

“Still not hearing a thank you…” Harry said, stubbornly staring ahead as his car slowly started to roll forward.

“Why are you so— ” Louis started to jog by his car. “Fucking fine. Thank you!”

Harry slowed to a stop, “What was that?”

Louis glared at him through the window. Harry smiled. It didn’t quite sit right.

“Thank you,” he hissed past gritted teeth.

The feeling of triumph should have been enough for Harry, but it really, really wasn’t. Not when there were fireworks bursting beneath his skin, his limbs restless and itching for _something._

“All right, get in the Styles mobile and buckle up!”

Shit.

He probably shouldn’t have disclosed his surname. He really couldn’t afford to get himself sued.

Rich Boy climbed into Harry’s car, nose turned up as if he smelled something funny. Harry wanted to throw him right back out already. For more reason than one.

“Why don’t you just call a bloody cab if you’re so disgusted?” The engine let out this weird clanking sound when Harry stepped on the pedal again. He really hoped it wouldn’t break down somewhere down the road. The fender was already going to have to be fixed.

“I lost my phone,” Rich Boy grumbled and buckled himself up. “It’s probably somewhere on the road all smashed up.” His hand slapped down on the dashboard and Harry almost swerved off the road again.

“What is wrong with you?!”

“Zayn!” Rich Boy said, and was Harry supposed to understand him?

“My mate probably thinks I’m dead, oh my god! He’ll be proper mad!”

Did people like this even have real friends? Harry wasn’t mean enough to ask out loud. “I’m sure he’ll be that much happier when he sees you’re not, Richie.”

He could see the boy’s head turn in his direction, brows pulled in by a frown, “What did you call me?”

“Richie,” Harry said. “Like from that movie Richie Rich?”

“Yes, I know what that is,” he bit out, impatient and tetchy. “My name is Louis.”

“All right, Lewis,” Harry said, just to spite him. “I’m Harry.” And why hadn’t he lied?

“Whatever, Harold. Don’t crash the damn car again.”

Harry considered crashing it on purpose just so he wouldn’t have to listen to Louis’ complaints anymore. He squirmed in his seat instead, popping a spearmint gum into his mouth and chewing aggressively.

****

It had been twenty-five minutes of bickering and an ongoing battle of changing the radio station back and forth and constant struggle not to be turned on by how much he hated that he wanted to bend Louis over. Damn the adrenaline and Louis’ cheekbones and his sharp tongue that Harry wanted to put to better use. Damn his sexy trench coat and thighs that Louis wouldn’t stop spreading to take up as much space as humanly possible. Damn Harry’s dry spell. Harry had had enough. Enough of Louis and his own inability to calm the fuck down. If he had to spend one more minute in the confined space next to Louis, he’d either kill Louis or throw himself out of the car. 

“In what world is this indie bullshit better than Drake? Have you hit your head or something?”

Harry. Was. Going. To. Go. Off. He stomped down on the breaks so hard it threw them both forward.

“You’re a psychopath!”

Harry was near tears. He kicked at his door when it wouldn’t open and ran out of the car and onto the empty road. At this point, he didn’t even care if Louis hijacked the car and left him here. He was almost hoping for it. Felt like he was going mad, stuck in this tug-of-war between wanting Louis and severely disliking him.

Louis followed him out. Why? God, why?

“Are you having a mental breakdown?” Louis asked warily. Good. He _should_ be wary. Harry was one step away from slamming Louis against the hood of the car and kissing him quiet.

Well. Fuck.

“Listen, we can listen to the indie shit. It’s fine.”

Harry turned on his heel and walked up to Louis until their toes were touching. Louis smelled like expensive cologne and coconuts and Harry wanted to bite him. This was so fucked up.

“Stop,” Harry said.

Louis arched his eyebrow, “Or what?”

Just this once. He just… he _needed._

Harry grabbed Louis by his waist and pushed him against he side of the car, searching his face. With fingers digging into Harry’s bare arms, Louis jumped up until his thighs locked around Harry’s hips. His lips took Harry’s without any preamble. No gentle introduction of lips on lips or the first awkward bump of noses that would make them giggle. He dove straight in, tongue parting Harry’s lips and dancing inside, mouths pressed together in a wet, heated kiss that had his knees wobbling.

“Louis, are you—” he panted into Louis’ mouth, jeans growing uncomfortably tighter as he grabbed the backs of Louis’ strong, muscled thighs. The curve of his bum fit right in Harry’s hands, _fuck_.

“Christ—” he bit down on Harry’s bottom lip, pulled, “just shut up and fuck me.”

Harry whined into the kiss, gliding his tongue over Louis’ and sucking it into his own mouth, his skin itching, electricity crackling over every nerve ending Louis touched with his hands.

“You were,” they parted, breathed in oxygen, “driving me mad with your fucking,” Louis suckled on his bottom lip, ribbing over it with his teeth, “chewing.”

Louis then pulled back and spat Harry’s chewing gum down by their feet, “You drive me mad.”

Harry just pushed Louis harder against the side of the car and ground his hips into Louis’ in a dirty figure eight, whimpering at the hard cock pressing against his through the fabric of their trousers.

“Fuck me already,” Louis whined, tilting his head back when Harry started sucking over his pulse point.

He somehow managed to open the door to the backseat and climb inside without losing his grip on Louis or bonking his head on the ceiling. _Try calling me clumsy again, Niall._

“Let me suck you,” Louis whispered hoarsely into his jaw and Harry did drop him then. The backseat was soft enough though, thank God.

“What?” Harry asked, more than a little dazed.

Louis grabbed the bottom of Harry’s vest and swiftly pulled it over his head. It landed on the car floor, right over the probably stupidly overpriced trench coat Louis had shucked off and tossed there two minutes into the drive.

“Suck. Your. Cock.”

“Jesus, I know what you meant—”

“Then why are you looking at me like that?” He hooked his leg around Harry’s hip and somehow managed to twist them around. Harry found himself lying on his back with Louis hovering over him on all fours and no recollection of how Louis had actually managed that.

“I just… didn’t expect—”

Louis trailed hot kisses down his throat, nimble fingers undoing his jeans. The only sound in the car was the slide of the zipper teeth and Harry’s hitching breath.

“Despite what you might think, I’m not a selfish fuck, Harold.”

“Harry,” he corrected automatically and sucked in a sharp breath when Louis licked the hollow of his throat like a hungry animal out for a kill. “And don’t say that.”

“Say what?” He circled Harry’s nipple with the tip of his tongue. Harry’s hips bucked up, tongue licking shakily over his lips.

“That you’re a… a fuck.”

He’d never liked calling any of his one night stands that. Because yeah, he’d slept with his fair share of people but that didn’t mean he’d taken any of them for granted, as something to be discarded and demeaned, even if he’d never see them again. Maybe a part of him didn’t want Louis to think of _him_ like that. Maybe because a part of him, deep down, had always yearned for something more.

“We almost died and I don’t know about you but all the adrenaline is making me horny as fuck, so… do you want to keep rehashing what we call this or fuck me?”

Harry tipped his chin against his chest, frowning, reply already teetering on the tip of his tongue.

“All right, what do you want me to call it then?” Louis suckled the nipple into his hot, wet mouth and tugged with his teeth, deft fingers sliding into the flaps of Harry’s undone jeans to curve over his hard cock through the pants. He was overwhelmed, short of breath and sweating. “Making love?”

Harry moaned and tangled his hand in Louis’ immaculate hair. It was soft, so soft and lovely to touch it almost surprised him. 

Louis released his nipple, his grip tightening. “Romantic talk turns you on then? Wouldn’t have guessed.”

“K-keep talking.” He combed through Louis’ hair, mouth dropping open because he just couldn’t seem to pull in enough air.

“Do you want me to make love to your cock then?” His breathy voice trailed on a laugh, hand slowly rubbing up and down, up and down, sliding the cotton fabric over Harry’s increasingly swollen cock.

“Louis, please.”

He sucked bruises down Harry’s torso, little red spots that would turn purple by tomorrow, and Harry wanted that. Wanted to get into the shower tomorrow and remember the indents of Louis’ teeth on his hipbones and the slide of Louis’ clever mouth over his V-line.

“Fuck, you’re leaking already.”

Louis tugged his jeans and pants under his bum and halfway down his trembling thighs. Air hit Harry’s overheated skin, cock slapping up against his abs with an obscene sound that had him biting down on the inside of his cheek.

“Shit, you’re big. Not circus big, just,” Louis’ voice turned quieter, hungrier, “perfect big.”

Just as Harry opened his mouth to answer, hot, wet tongue dragged up from the base of his cock right to the leaking tip. Jesus, fucking Christ.

“Mmm,” Louis hummed, lips pursing around the head and suckling as if it was a lollipop he’d been craving for hours. “You taste good.”

“I, uh… I eat a lot of… fruit stuff.”

Louis wrapped his hand around the base and looked up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. His fingers barely met around the girth. Harry knew he’d write a song about this. Maybe even two.

“Want me to do it? Want me to suck you?”

Harry whimpered and wriggled his hips, thumbing behind Louis’ ear. Louis’ eyes slipped shut for a second. He _liked_ it. Liked having the little spot behind his ear touched. If he wasn’t so far down, Harry would have kissed it.

Louis rubbed the tip over his open mouth, the sight of it so fucking obscene Harry knew he’d be dreaming about this for years to come. That and the sight of Louis licking out to swipe at the bead of precome and pulling it into his mouth, moaning as he finally parted his lips around the head and sank down, down, down. The drag of his lips turned Harry’s ability to speak into nothing but desperate, keening noises trickling out of his arched throat.

“L-nhg,” he managed as Louis rubbed his tongue over the sensitive underside, fingers caressing Harry’s balls. Harry had never felt himself surrender to someone this fast. To a stranger. And he just… he needed to give back. To touch and taste and see what would happen when Louis lost control.

“Wait, Lou—wait.”

The cock slipped out of Louis’ mouth with a loud pop. He looked almost unsure. It was the most human and vulnerable Harry had seen him look since he’d met him. It did things to Harry he’d rather not think about right now.

“Turn… turn around. Take your clothes off.”

Together they managed to peel off Louis’ perfectly tailored suit, even though Louis kept distracting him by sliding his hand loosely over Harry’s spit-slick cock. The suit finally joined Harry’s vest on the car floor and Louis looked… fuck.

“You’re perfect.” Harry slid his palms over the curve of Louis’ small waist and rested them on the slight flare of his hips, mesmerised. He was masculine; strong muscles and flat chest with sparse hair, but feminine too. All velvety skin and a bum that fit in Harry’s hands just so. Harry had to have a taste.

“You don’t need to woo me,” Louis said, cheeks flushed.

Harry wanted to. It was so, so wrong and against everything he believed in, but… God did he want to. “You clean? Down there?”

“Do you mean if I washed my bum?” Louis asked, eyebrow raised, back into the comfort zone of teasing, “Yeah. Quite thoroughly, actually. Why?”

Harry grabbed his hips and turned Louis around, pulling his hips back until he was inches away from Harry’s salivating mouth, knees perched on either side of Harry’s ribs. Louis was melted caramel and soft baby pink and Harry couldn’t wait for Louis to get a hint, so he clutched at his hips and pulled him hard down on his open mouth.

Louis must have made some kind of startled sound from the way he jolted in Harry’s hands, but Harry was too busy. Too busy pulling Louis’ cheeks apart with his thumbs and licking over the flushed rim of Louis’ hole. He tasted clean and musky and rich.

“Fucking fuck, Harry.” His hand tightened around Harry’s base so hard he wouldn’t have been able to come even if he wanted to. That turned him on even more. Made him moan into Louis’ flesh and pull him harder down on his face, tongue breaching the rim. Louis’ knee slipped off the backseat and forced Harry’s tongue deeper in. He vaguely felt Louis’ fingers digging into his thigh, Louis’ quick bursts of breath hitting his leaking cock. Louis licked over him, just small, distracted kitten licks that drove Harry mad and left him so needy that he couldn’t stop making all these grunting noises.

“Harry, Harry, Harry,” he slipped Harry’s cock back into his mouth, just suckling at it lazily as though he couldn’t properly focus on anything more, “Please.”

And that was it, wasn’t it? Louis saying please in the softest, most delicate way. So far from the better-than-you, hate-your-hipster-guts tone he’d been using all day. Harry loved it. Wanted to hear Louis say his name like this over a candle-lit dinner and during quiet mornings. He was so fucked.

“Please, just… do you,” Louis panted, keening little noises trapped in the back of his throat, “have stuff?”

Harry pulled his tongue out, watched Louis’ hole flutter and felt like he’d have come if Louis hadn’t been squeezing his base so hard. “Stuff?”

“Lube. Condom.”

Harry licked the taste of Louis off his lips, his brain foggy. “Yeah. Yeah, um…” He reached behind him into the little compartment built into the side door and managed to wrestle both items out. Not his first backseat tumble. But. The best one. Definitely the best one. And he hadn’t even shagged Louis yet.

Fitting themselves around each other should have been more of a struggle. Harry expected to be elbowed and kneed at every turn, but they managed easily. As if they were able to anticipate each other’s next move. He bit down on Louis’ bum cheek as he settled behind him on his knees and pressed his lubed-up finger in, forever grateful he’d invested in a bigger car. Louis slapped his open palm on the car window and arched his sweaty back, a ray of light slanting over his spine. He looked like he had a handful of diamonds spilled across his skin. Harry pushed in the second finger, stretching and scissoring until Louis was shifting his legs open as far as they would go.

“Yeah,” Louis breathed out, fingers curling into the glass helplessly, his other hand wrapped around his straining cock. Harry didn’t think he’d last.

He took his time, stretching Louis open slowly and patiently with three fingers, fingertips rubbing over the little swollen gland that made Louis get really fucking loud.

“In, _fuck_ , Harry… get in me. Now.”

His slippery fingers fumbled with the condom, trembling and unsteady because he wanted, needed Louis so much he was shaking with it. When he finally ripped the condom package open and rolled the condom down his length, he could have cried. He slicked himself up so much it dripped down his balls and rubbed his length up and down Louis’ crack. When he let the head catch on Louis’ rim on the downward slide several times, he didn’t know whom he was torturing more -- Louis or himself.

“I swear to God,” Louis panted, reached behind and took Harry’s cock and then just… pushed it right in. It was such a tight, tight fit that Harry’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, hips stilling.

Nothing had ever felt this good. Nothing. Maybe he’d write an entire album just about Louis.

Louis wriggled back on him with a drawn out moan and sent him a heated glance over his naked shoulder. “Come on then. Show me what you’ve… got.”

Harry had always liked a challenge.

He smoothed his hand from the nape of Louis’ neck down to the little dimples at the bottom of his spine and rocked his hips forward. He felt every shiver running over Louis’ skin under the palms of his hands, felt his ribs expand on a deep breath as he met Harry halfway.

“Big,” Louis said and dropped his flushed forehead against the forearm he’d propped up against the car window.

Harry went even slower, hands massaging circles into Louis’ hips. “Too much?”

Louis shook his head, paused then nodded. “In a good way though. Don’t you dare stop.”

Harry nodded even though Louis couldn’t see him. A drop of sweat ran down his chest, trickled down his torso. At the sight of where they were joined, his hips flush against Louis, just rocking forward slowly and grinding in deep, he had to close his eyes. Had to bend over Louis and wrap his arms around him. Had to kiss the nape of his neck and the little spot behind his ear that made Louis push back against him harder. Had to.

“I’m glad I ran… into you,” he mumbled into Louis’ ear.

“Sap,” Louis said with a snort, but not unkindly. But maybe Harry wasn’t in the position to make any assumptions. This was just sex. Nothing else.

Harry bit down on the curve of Louis’ neck, felt him jerk in his hold and choke back a moan.

“Can you… faster?”

With as many kisses all over Louis’ upper back as he could manage, Harry straightened back up as much as he could in the confined space and pulled almost all the way out before he slammed back in.

Louis cried, loud and needy, thighs straining as he met Harry’s every thrust, harder and deeper and faster, his fingers digging into Louis’ hips. The pleasure of it crashed over him like ocean waves, one after another, pulling back only so a bigger one could take its place. He found himself chanting Louis’ name, almost a plea, as he pounded into him with enough force to rock the car.

“Yeah, fuck, yes,” Louis whimpered, voice rough, “’M close.”

Harry could feel it cresting too, pooling in the bottom of his belly like a deluge about to burst through the dam. He watched a bead of sweat roll down Louis’ arched spine and rest in the dip of his lower back. The mirror was fogged up with how hard he was breathing and Harry had to grit his teeth at the dirty soundtrack of skin slapping against skin.

“Louis, please,” he reached around, fingers fisting over Louis’ thick cock. He was dripping precome on the backseat and Harry didn’t even care.

Louis slammed back against him with little ah-ah-ahs, shaking. He knew this was it. When Louis’ body jerked forward with a groan and he bit down on his own forearm, shooting and shooting over Harry’s fist, clenching down so hard around Harry it only took him four more thrusts before the wave crested over and dragged him down with it. His vision whited out for a moment, hips moving on their own volition until he was so oversensitive and spent it was beginning to hurt.

He slumped over Louis’ back and licked the salt off his caramel skin. He could feel the aftershocks crackle trough Louis’ veins.

****

“So, this is me,” Louis said, _feeling_ things. Once he’d come down from the high, his whole body had come crashing down with it, sore and trembling and banged up. He was still tingling now though, weirdly attuned to Harry’s every movement and the way the tendons in his forearms shifted every time he turned the wheel. He was not bloody attracted to Harry even after getting him out of his system. He did not hesitate when Harry parked in front of the gate to his house, mouth cherry red and swollen from Louis’ teeth. Fuck. If Zayn knew he’d probably take the piss out of him for days. Louis didn’t want Harry to stay. He _didn’t_.

He’d just been an exceptional shag, both of them spurred on by the spike of adrenaline, that’s all.

****

They sat in the car in front of a monstrosity of a house Harry was sure could house a small town, dishevelled and flushed.

“Are you going to sue me?” Harry asked as he looked at Louis, his shirt half unbuttoned and hair a mess.

Louis frowned, something unsure and nervous flickering over his face before he pulled the mask back on, “Is that why you shagged me then?”

“No!” He almost reached for Louis’ hand then thought _what the fuck am I doing? He’d sooner bite me than hold my hand._ And maybe he’d do both at the same time, and that was almost worse because Harry had always had a weakness for people who couldn’t be tamed. “No. Was just wondering. Sorry.”

“’S all right.” He slung the jacket over his arm and opened the door. Harry felt a brief flash of panic, an urge to keep Louis in the car, even if they’d spent the next four hours arguing over the bloody radio. He didn’t even _like_ Louis, because he’d only ever drive Harry mad, but he just… he wasn’t quite ready to let go.

_Don’t fool yourself into thinking this was more than it was._

“Louis—”

“Goodbye, Harry Styles.”

With that, he hopped out of the car and slammed the door closed, leaving Harry alone with nothing but his thoughts and Michael Jackson’s _‘you’ve been hit by, you’ve been struck by, a smooth criminal’_ for company. Ten paces away from the car, Louis paused and looked over his shoulder, their eyes meeting through the windshield.

Harry was a mess. A raw nerve.

They couldn’t have been more different, more wrong for each other. 

He gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles went white and turned away before Louis could, trying to tell himself he’d forget Louis by tomorrow. 

Harry could still taste him in his mouth.

“Goodbye, Louis Tomlinson.”

It wasn’t until he parked in front of his own flat building that he realised Louis had left his trench coat in the car.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S ONLY BEEN 84 YEARS! But I did promise a sequel, so... IT HERE!
> 
> Many, many thanks to Giselle keepcalmandreadfic, beta extraordinaire!!!!
> 
> Pls don't just chuck a Burberry coat on a dirty floorboard of a car, this has been a PSA.

Louis’ skin was slick velvet, pliant and warm under Harry’s fingertips, sweat dripping down his spine. He was pushing back, breathing those little ah-ah-ah sounds every time Harry rocked back into him, tight and wet and scalding hot, and Louis looked over his shoulder with hooded eyes, lips parted around Harry’s name—

Harry jolted awake, hips rocking into empty air, shuddering as he came. 

“Fuck,” he muttered and reached down to squeeze himself through the aftershocks, eyes still sandy with sleep and boxers getting wetter by a second, limbs twitching because the little zings of pleasure wouldn’t stop shivering down his spine. 

This had to stop bloody happening. It had been days, all right? 

Days of waking up from a wet dream like a twelve-year-old who got hard from a light breeze and any free minute spent Googling ‘post car crash trauma’ and ‘adrenaline high’ and ‘can nearly dying make you horny’.

Yes. Yes, it could, apparently. 

_You’re such an idiot,_ he told himself, rubbing his softening cock through the wet boxers one last time before letting go and blinking his eyes open to stare at the ceiling. It had all been a product of nearly dying. It was temporary, this unhealthy obsession and vivid memories of pressing into Louis’ body, of the way he’d fallen pliant when Harry had nuzzled the spot behind his ear, the press of Louis’ teeth into his hipbones and the arch of his golden back.

In a few weeks Harry wouldn’t even remember the colour of his eyes anymore, would be able to forget the way adrenaline had surged through his veins with every thrust and every slide of their lips. 

His mother had always told him that he jumped in too fast and put too much of his heart into strangers’ hands, and he knew he’d done it again that day, had confused the ‘I’m alive’ euphoria for real feelings for a moment. He just needed to shake it off and forget the way they’d worked together, as if they’d been reading each other’s bodies for years.

Nothing about it had been real or permanent enough to fuck with his head like this though. He needed closure. The kind of closure he usually got after his one night stand kicked him out of the flat right after or turned out to have a boyfriend with penchant for violence or… just turned out to be an arse in general.

Louis’ coat still hung in his closet. 

He’d been telling himself he’d return it every single morning, just gathering courage bit by bit. Maybe he wasn’t quite ready to meet Louis again, afraid of how it would make him feel, a part of him all too eager to cling to the memories for a bit longer. 

He’d always had a masochistic streak.

He sighed a shaky breath and pushed his sweaty hair off his forehead, refusing to glance down his bare torso to see the fading bruises in the shape of Louis’ teeth.

“Harry, you up, mate?” Niall yelled through the door just before he barged in, because his parents had never taught him proper manners. Harry didn’t even bother throwing a blanket over his crotch. Niall should have knocked. “If you’re done tossing off, can you get ready so we can go?”

“I wasn’t—”

“So you’ve been moaning for the past hour, because—” Niall waggled his eyebrows. Harry was demoting him from best friend to just-a-flatmate. Speaking of flats, they needed one with thicker walls.

“I didn’t mean to,” Harry grumbled, covering his face with a pillow. He felt vaguely unfulfilled. He’d even tried to pull last night to see what it would do. It was just… no one had made him feel like that. As if the world might tip off its axis if Harry didn’t have them _right now._

He didn’t like feeling like this. Unsettled and empty and left wanting something that didn’t even exist. 

“It’s the coat’s fault.” 

If Louis had never forgotten his coat in the back of Harry’s car, it wouldn’t have been niggling on the edge of his mind all the time, giving him flashbacks every time he tugged a shirt from a coat hanger next to it. 

He didn’t even know what he wanted to happen once he saw Louis again. Shag him again, just to see? Take him out to a candle lit dinner then hold his hand as they star-gazed? Fuck. That was ridiculous. 

Sex was the only thing they had in common.

“Mate, I ain’t kink shaming, but that is a bit weird.”

Harry blindly threw a spare pillow in Niall’s direction and flopped over on his front. 

He needed to clean up like, five minutes ago. His skin was getting tacky and gross, and if he didn’t get up he’d probably end up humping the mattress out of sheer frustration because it just hadn’t been _enough_ , Niall standing a few feet away notwithstanding. “Go ‘way.”

“If I don’t see you coming out in two minutes, I’m dragging you out.”

“Ugh.” 

He was going to go out and have a great time and _Louis who?_

****

“Niall,” Harry sighed, dropping his forehead on the bar table. It was sticky, but he didn’t even care because he was going through a crisis. “I’ve been cursed.”

“What, like a Disney princess?”

“Exactly. I’m ruined.” Harry lifted his head, shoulders slumped under the weight of his sex life having been sabotaged for life. He’d probably never get off properly again unless it followed a near-death experience. That or Louis’ mouth and hands and… _no_. Just no. “What do I do?”

“This is about that snotty rich kid, isn’t it?”

“Not _everything’s_ about him. This might as well be about… my car needing serious repairs.” Harry fumbled for his beer mug and took a swig, almost spilling the contents down on his T-shirt. There. Completely cool and natural. Niall would never suspect a thing. “How do you even know he’s snotty? I never said anything.”

“Harry, mate, I love you, but you have. You’ve been yapping about him for days now. I could probably recognise the lad on the streets even though I’ve never even met him.”

“That’s a lie.” He half-hid behind his pint. He hadn’t, had he?

“Oh Niall, I hate him so much,” Niall imitated, voice dropping low to imitate Harry’s. This was very much not appreciated, “but you should have seen his bum. I could just sit and stare at him all day, and—”

“Okay,” Harry jumped in, clamping his hand over Niall’s mouth. Predictably, Niall licked out, so Harry pulled away with a disgusted squawk. He was fairly sure he’d never said any of that, not sober anyway. Niall was totally embellishing.

“Why don’t you just stop by his place and return his damn coat. Shag him again and get it out of your system. I’m sure he’d be up for it. Or down. Whichever way works for you. Maybe get a date out of it.”

“That’s not what we… it’s not like that,” Harry countered, dejected and valiantly trying to ignore the twitch in his pants. “It’s the… there’s a whole science thing about adrenaline, you know. The classic ‘near death experience romance’ thing. It’s not _real._ Like, he’s not relationship material at all.”

“Right, so… just forget about him?”

“I can’t! That’s the whole bloody point!” Could Niall empathise with Harry’s internal struggle for one minute, please?

“You want advice, Hazza?” Niall flicked Harry’s chin. “I say you grab the bull by its horns already.”

What was that even supposed to _mean?_

“I don’t even think I can just walk up to his house and ring a bloody bell. He lives in a _mansion_. In bloody Calabasas. They’ve got, like, crazy security and rabid guard dogs or lions, probably, and—” 

“All I hear is excuses,” Niall said in a rather condescending way. See if Harry left him the last bit of milk for his morning cereal ever again.

“I don’t even fancy him. He’s bloody rude and vain and _loud_ and I just want to—” _get him out of my head, flush him out of my system like a drug_ , “shut him up. With my lips. Wait. No! No, I don’t.” 

Fuck.

“Well, that’s a sign of a healthy relationship if I’ve ever heard one.”

Harry heaved a long-suffering sigh, because no. It really wasn’t, and Niall had a point. And Harry had decided months ago that he no longer wanted something only based on lust that would fizzle out and die. He wanted something more, someone who would fill all his empty spaces and agree that happiness meant at least three children and post-coital cuddles. Someone who would feel like home. 

Louis was as far away from ‘home’ as humanly possible. 

“Yeah, well… I don’t even like him. He’s _awful_.” 

It was just chemicals. Adrenaline. _Science._

Niall’s throat bobbed around a mouthful, lips curved into a smirk that made Harry regret all his poor life decisions. “Sure.”

****

“I never want to see you again!” The boy splashed a glass of $400 champagne straight into Louis’ face. The fizzy trickles of it dripped down his face and soaked into the collar of his tailored shirt, which. That was Yves _fucking_ Saint Laurent, what the fuck.

“Cunt!” the boy called out as he elbowed his way past the wide-eyed onlookers who were watching the scene like hyenas hungry for their next kill.

“Eight out of ten for dramatic exit,” Louis remarked, pulling a pocket square out of his blazer and wiping the sticky droplets off his face with unsteady hands. “Christ. You’d think I murdered his poodle.”

“Well,” Zayn said, rising from the settee where he’d been quietly watching things blow up in Louis’ face. All he’d been lacking was a bag of popcorn, seriously. “You did just publicly humiliate him.”

It wasn’t that Louis _enjoyed_ hurting other people’s feelings. But when it came down to little socialites who thought they could manipulate him, he wasn’t about to feel particularly guilty. He didn’t like being used. He didn’t like a lot of things he’d used to, as of late. 

“He deserved it.” The lad didn’t have any feelings to hurt anyway. Just his pride. That much he and Louis had in common.

“You didn’t have to tell everyone he cried during sex.”

Louis shrugged and dropped the damp pocket square on the nearby table, doing his best to present the very picture of composure despite the disastrous state of his hair. Might as well pack this up and slink out before his father found out. Annihilating his brand new car had put him on a seemingly permanent shit list already. 

“Well, I’m sure he would have, anyhow. Seemed like the type. Probably has a small cock as well.”

“I’m surprised you don’t actually _know_ that. That’s unlike you.”

Louis kicked at the side of Zayn’s boot-clad foot with his shoe with strictly more force than necessary and arched his eyebrow. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“That you’ve been acting weird.” Zayn relaxed back into the settee and tilted his head to the side, looked up at Louis in that unsettling, probing way that made Louis feel stripped down to his marrow. “Just… off. Somehow. I’m gonna figure it out.”

Louis tugged down on the hem of his blazer, refused to flush at the thought of finger-shaped bruises hidden beneath the waistband of his fitted trousers and the way they’d got there in the first place. “I’m not a bloody project, Zayn. And I’m not ‘off’. I’ve just… Maybe I’m growing up. Maturing, if you will. I heard almost dying might do that to a bloke.”

“Hmm… could be.” Zayn hooked his feet around Louis’ ankle to pull him closer. Louis stumbled forward, his shins hitting the edge of the settee. Zayn seemed to be channelling his inner Ravenclaw, which didn’t bode well for Louis at all. Neither did the fact he even knew what that meant. He’d spent way too much time with his nerd of a best friend, about to become former-best-friend if he didn’t quit his psychoanalysing. 

Louis did not come here to be probed. Mentally or otherwise.

“Do you want to ditch?” Zayn asked, eyes flitting behind Louis as he latched onto Louis’ wrist and rose to his feet with effortless grace. For someone as easily aggravated by obligatory social gatherings, he had an unfair amount of poise. “I think I’m over this.”

“Fuck, yes. Please.” Even Zayn’s badgering beat this farce of a party.

A hand curled around his elbow before he could turn on his heel. He only needed to meet Zayn’s troubled, sympathetic gaze to know that he was shit out of luck.

“Spare a minute for me, will you?” It wasn’t a question. That much Louis knew. “In my office. Now.”

He trudged behind his father past the guests who were pretending not to stare and whisper behind their hands about what a scandalous tosser Louis was. Well. He did like to be the centre of attention.

Neither of them spoke until the sliding door clicked closed behind Louis, the room silent.

His father sighed. “This dinner party was important to me.”

Louis barely resisted the urge to toe at the ground, the back of his neck flushing hot red. His face felt sticky and dry, his scalp starting to itch and he just wanted to hop into the shower and wash this day away. Wanted to pretend none of this could even touch him. “It’s not like I did it on purpose, exactly. I just didn’t think—”

“That’s it though,” his father cut in, perched on the edge of his dark mahogany desk, legs crossed at the ankle, expensive grey slacks hardly even creasing. All he needed was a glass of whiskey and the image would have been complete, “You never think. You don’t think when you let a car worth quarter of a million drive off a cliff—”

“How many times do I have to say I’m sorry? It was an accident. I could have bloody _died_ —”

“You don’t think when you go out and come home smelling like weed,” his father continued, eyes sharp and cloudy grey and disappointed, as if he had the right. As if he hadn’t fucked their entire family over. “You don’t think when you sleep with everyone who breathes—”

“That’s not fair,” Louis said, shame curling at the bottom of his stomach, hot and heavy. 

“I couldn’t care less what you do in your spare time, Louis. Next time, maybe try not to do it with the son of the man I’m trying to do business with. The deal is likely shot to hell now, thanks to you.”

Louis swallowed hard and tipped his chin up, blinked away the burn in his eyes. He didn’t even care. Didn’t fucking care at all. “Whatever.”

His father pushed off the desk, his lips a stern, thin line of disapproval. “This attitude needs to stop right now or—”

“Or what?” Louis laughed, his throat raw. “Gonna ship me off? Gonna pay me off to disappear just like you did with Mum?”

“You were the one who chose to stay with me,” his father reminded him, face closed off and cold. Distant. “Don’t put the blame on me.”

Louis shook his head, smiling weakly as he backed towards the door. He’d never regretted anything more than choosing his father.

“Fuck you,” he said, before he turned and showed himself out.

****

“Are you okay?”

Harry nodded a little bit more swiftly than he’d anticipated and stumbled into Niall, room spinning. “Oopsie.”

When had they got on a boat?

“I knew I shouldn’t have let you get that pink drink,” Niall grunted, arm tight and secure around Harry’s waist. Niall was such a good friend.

“I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah, love you too,” Niall said and steered them out of the crowded pub. The fresh air made Harry’s eyes itch, “Ya drunk oaf.”

“’M not drunk.” He could still count all his toes and stuff. “I want Nutella.”

“Okay.”

Harry nuzzled Niall’s neck to show his appreciation. 

“We’re going to get you home and get you into bed and—”

“I want a boyfriend,” Harry said, feet suddenly heavy with the sudden realisation that he didn’t have one. He wanted someone nice and funny and not blue-eyed. He wanted to go home and slather Nutella all over his sadly non-existent boyfriend then lick it off. 

They came to a standstill at the kerb that wouldn’t stop swaying.

“Your head’s gonna kill you tomorrow,” Niall said, his laugh bouncing off the insides of Harry’s skull.

****

“Ow.” Either something furry had died in Harry’s mouth or he’d had one too many Cosmos the night before. Considering he was half-dressed in wrinkled clothes from yesterday and smelled as if he’d rolled around on the dirty floor of a brewery, he was betting on the latter.

“Niall,” he croaked, wishing his friend possessed some kind of telepathic powers so he could bring him Tylenol and water without Harry having to move.

No such luck.

He didn’t even bother calling for Liam, because one, he was most likely at Sophia’s, and two, Harry wasn’t in the mood for a lecture.

He curled into a ball and yanked his blanket over his head to shut out the morning light. Thank God he only had a night shift today. 

He was never drinking again.

His arm curled around a smooth ball of fabric that he must have been cuddling all night. He buried his nose in it, brain like cotton as he reached for the phone and cracked one eye open so he could dial Niall’s number. 

The muffled sound of Niall’s ring tone sounded through the wall.

“Harry,” Niall picked up, “glad to know you’re alive.”

“Barely.” Harry let out a pitiful whimper. “Help.”

“You’re the most annoying post-drunk in the world, I swear to God,” Niall said and hung up. _Rude._

Harry was almost ready to forgive him when the door opened and Niall appeared with a bottle of pills and a tall glass of water. He might as well have had a halo shining above his blonde dipped hair. It all went to shit when Niall opened his mouth.

“Are you seriously cuddling the coat?”

“What?” He glanced down at the bundle pressed to his chest and balked. “I wasn’t!”

That bloody coat. It was all the coat’s fault. Bloody Burberry.

“So it just decided to walk out of your closet then.”

Harry sniffed, studiously avoiding Niall’s gaze and trying his best to ignore the nausea rolling around in his stomach. “Well. It more like, _swooped_. But yes.”

“I’ve had it with you and your weird pining. I’m driving you over today so you can return it.”

Harry was definitely never drinking again.

****

How many times could someone brush their teeth before it became excessive? Because Harry was on his third, just to be sure. Having minty breath was polite, okay? That was all. He did not do it because he wanted Louis to smell his breath and be tempted to kiss Harry again.

Harry totally had this under control.

Someone banged on the door. “Hurry up, you’ve been there for over an hour!”

“Do you know how long it takes to dry my hair?” Harry yelled back, brows pulled in by a frown. Maybe he should wash it and re-dry it again. It wasn’t fluffy enough.

“Harry, I swear to God—”

“Fuck, okay, stop yelling at me!”

He swept out of the bathroom and past a disgruntled Niall in the most dramatic way possible to show his displeasure.

His refusal to talk to Niall again lasted him all the way to his closet, where he promptly fell into a mild panic. “Niall, what do I wear!?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Niall muttered just loud enough for Harry to hear.

“What kind of friend are you?” Something see-through, maybe? Skinnies? But _which ones?_

“The kind of friend who has been holding his piss for fifteen minutes now,” Niall called out, which was then followed by a long, relieved moan and the sound of pee hitting the toilet. 

Gross.

“Doesn’t matter what you wear, you’ll end up half naked anyway!”

Well. That much was true.

****

“Harry, come on, it’s been an hour."

Harry looked up at Niall from where he was sitting among a mound of clothes strewn on his bed, close to giving up and going in nothing but his boxers. He’d tried almost all of them and none of them were _right._

“I look shit in everything.” Not _‘look how hot and over you I am’_ enough. 

Thrift shopping had its downsides. 

Niall strode up to him, regarded the clothes with a determined scowl and tugged at a floral short-sleeved shirt wedged under Harry’s butt until Harry toppled over and the shirt came free.

“This one,” Niall said. “And the black jeans. The ones that don’t have a hole near your crotch, even though I know you like to wear them to pull.”

“I haven’t pulled in forever,” Harry reminded him. He was in a Louis drought, which somehow, was even worse than the dry spell he’d been suffering from before. “I want something real, remember?”

“Which is not Louis,” Niall confirmed.

“No, he’s not.”

“Then why are you obsessing over this?” Niall asked. 

“I don’t know!” He sprawled on his back, limbs akimbo. “I just want to look nice.” 

And maybe Harry was putting off the inevitable too. Because once he met Louis again, he’d find out for sure that what he’d felt was all because of the situation, the surge of hormones. That the crash itself wasn’t some twisted way of fate shoving them together and the connection they’d shared had been nothing but his imagination. 

“Niall,” he said, bottom lip stuck out in a helpless pout.

“Okay, come here, loser.” Niall pulled him up from the bed and practically shoved him into the shirt, buttoning it only halfway through before he gave up.

Harry decided to leave it --he usually wore it like that anyway-- and yanked his jeans on.

He was as ready as he’d ever be.

****

Getting to the door was easier than Harry had expected. They’d buzzed the intercom by the gate, said whom they were coming to see and had been let through a couple minutes later. It had been the longest two minutes of Harry’ life.

He sat in the passenger seat and tried not to jiggle his knee, sweaty hands clutching at the coat in his lap.

“Wait in the car,” Harry said as they finally made it down a long gravel driveway and stopped in front of a massive double door of the mansion. 

Harry should have peed again before they’d left.

“No way, I’m going. I need to see this.”

“You’re awful and I hate you.” Why was he so bloody nervous? He’d just give the coat back, get his closure so he could move on with his life. 

Fuck, he wasn’t ready.

“Harry, calm down. Wouldn’t want you to upchuck your brekky all over the bloke, would we?” He squeezed Harry’s shoulder and pulled the keys out of the ignition. “I doubt you’ve got the spare cash to pay for his dry cleaning, anyway.”

He turned his wide eyes to Niall. “Niall, what do I say?”

“That you came to return his coat?” He flicked Harry’s chin and grinned. “Maybe that you wouldn’t mind having another go.”

“No!” He fumbled for the door handle, had to yank hard to open the door. It wouldn’t stop getting jammed ever since the crash. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Having Niall by his side as he pushed the bell with a shaky finger was at least mildly comforting. 

Waiting seemed to take forever.

“Breathe,” Niall reminded him, rubbing circles into his back. Yeah, okay. Harry could do this. He could be cool and unaffected and—

The door opened.

“Um,” slipped out of Harry’s suddenly very dry mouth.

A beat of expectant silence passed.

“We’re looking for Louis,” Niall said, and now Harry was really bloody glad he’d come with because Harry couldn’t make his tongue work.

“Lou’s not home,” the bloke who’d opened the door said. Or well, was he even a person? Could have been some kind of android or a half-human, half-sex god hybrid. “Can I help you?”

Harry’s hands were sweating so badly he was probably ruining the expensive fabric of the coat. What had he done to deserve this?

“Yeah, man,” Niall said, elbowed Harry so hard he winced.

“This,” Harry finally remembered himself and offered the coat to Adonis. “I, um… this is Louis’.”

So was Adonis, probably. There was literally no other explanation Harry could think of. He was attractive and obviously not blood-related to Louis and he was at his house while Louis wasn’t there, frowning at Harry as though demanding him to explain why he had Louis’ coat in the first place.

Oh God. Had Louis cheated on him with Harry?

Harry needed to go right now. Immediately. He was the bottom of a shoe. No. Worse. He was a splatter of mud stuck to the bottom of a shoe and so was fucking _Louis._

He’d known and yet… yet his heart dropped right down to his stomach anyway.

“Thanks, mate,” Adonis said and took the coat from Harry’s hands. He had tattoos running all the way up his arm. Harry knew because he couldn’t meet Adonis’ eyes. “Anything else?”

“No, thank you,” Harry said and caught Niall’s wrist in a death-grip. “Bye.”

With that, he dragged Niall over to the car, wouldn’t stop thinking _I knew it, I knew it, I knew it._

It had been nothing but a one-time thing.

_Well, at least you got your closure._

****

“What’s up with Harry?” Liam asked, chewing so obnoxiously loudly Harry had spent the last five minutes daydreaming about punching the bag of crisps out of Liam’s hand. He shouldn’t expect to be in the loop when he was barely at the flat anymore.

“He’s mad the lover boy wasn’t home.”

“I’m not mad,” he muttered, hiding his frown in the sofa cushion. 

He wasn’t mad. Not about that anyway. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting in the first place. 

This was all Niall’s fault for dragging him there. 

He knew it was unfair the second he thought it, but he needed to blame _someone_ right now. Better that than dwelling on the fact that Louis was a cheater who had made Harry inadvertently cheat by proxy.

“Oh come on, Harry, I’m sorry,” Niall said, lifting Harry’s legs and sliding under, putting Harry’s feet in his lap and pulling on his socked big toe. He was not going to be coaxed out of his funk that easily. “Want me to cuddle you?”

“No,” Harry said, hugging a purple throw pillow to his chest. It was his favourite. It didn’t call him out on sulking. “I didn’t even want to see him anyway.”

Liam paused mid-chew. “So is someone going to tell me what’s going on or not?”

Niall sighed.

****

“Care to explain?” Zayn made himself at home right in the middle of Louis’ king-sized mattress, head propped up by a mound of pillows, expression judgemental. At least he’d taken his shoes off.

“Explain what?” Louis turned his back on Zayn and disappeared inside his walk-in closet, flicking the lights on. Once the housekeeper saw the warzone that was his closet floor, he’d get a cuff round the head. In his defence, choosing the right shirt to match his mood was hard and putting them back in place was even more so.

“Don’t act like you don’t know.”

Louis nudged aside a heap of clothes with his bare foot and walked over to his coat section. He’d honestly forgotten he’d even left it. The coat. Not like he didn’t have a dozen more. _Too bad you can’t bloody forget about the rest of it._

“Who, um… who brought it?”

When Louis turned around, Zayn was slouching casually against the doorframe, arms folded over his chest. His unstyled hair was flopping into his face, yet he still managed to look ready to shoot a GQ cover. If Louis hadn’t loved him so much he’d have hated him.

“Two lads,” Zayn said, his gaze burning into Louis’ profile. Louis felt like a rabbit caught in the headlights, startled and ready to flee. 

“Got it off the taller one. Doe eyes, curly hair. Blowjob lips. Pretty.”

“Well then why don’t you go on and date him,” Louis snapped, tetchy and unsettled, jittery hands yanking a silk hanger off the rod. 

“He was really bloody peculiar. I told him you weren’t home. Wasn’t sure if he was a stalker or something,” Zayn said, ignoring Louis’ outburst as only he could. Knowing Louis for years would have set anyone’s tolerance bar for drama quite high. “Who is he?”

“Nobody.” He slipped the coat over the hanger and put it in its place, pretending to smooth out the cuffs so he wouldn’t have to face Zayn so soon. “Just a one night stand. I forgot my coat in his car.”

“Classy,” Zayn remarked and then he was there, his hand splayed over Louis’ ribs and chin propped up on Louis’ shoulder.

“I do drink my tea with my pinky out, so…”

Zayn snorted and squeezed his waist.

“He’s the guy who drove me home after I wrecked my car.”

“Ah,” Zayn breathed out, amused. Louis resisted the urge to elbow him. “The boy with the pretty cock.”

“Fuck you,” Louis said, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile. Harry did have a pretty cock. Great hands too. Didn’t mean Louis should be feeling like this. The tug of disappointment in the pit of his stomach. The urge to run out and see if he could catch him so he could see him again. Just to see. To know he’d built it all up in his head somehow and Harry was nowhere near as magnetic as Louis remembered.

It had just been… sex. And some kind of residual, post near-death experience thing. It was all messing with the chemicals in his brain. 

He didn’t even know why he still remembered Harry’s name. Louis didn’t do pining or anything other than one-offs, feelings excluded.

“Want to light up? I brought the good stuff.”

“As if you ever get anything else.” Louis leaned into Zayn for a brief second before he was pushing him away and dancing out of his reach. “What’re you waiting for then?”

Zayn followed him out with a good-natured shake of his head.

****

As far as getting high went, Louis was no novice. It almost seemed mundane by now, but it got his brain to slow down, got his hands to stop from shaking because sometimes he just couldn’t contain himself, and that was good enough for him. Worth it.

“That cloud looks like a dragon,” Zayn mumbled, licking over his smoke stained lips and blinking up at the sky as he passed his joint to Louis. The tip of it was damp with their combined spit but Louis couldn’t be bothered to roll up his own. 

“Can you imagine what it would be like to have one?” Louis asked as he exhaled the smoke, limbs floppy as he rolled on his belly, cheek squished against the sun-heated, rough tiles of his balcony. “That would be sick.”

“Pay someone to construct you one.” Zayn blinked. It seemed to take forever. “Like a plane. But dragon-shaped.”

“My father won’t pay for it.”

“Pay for it yourself,” Zayn said and reclaimed the joint. As if it was that easy. And the thing was… maybe it was, which reminded him—

“Yeah,” Louis croaked, pushing himself off the floor, hands and knees as he stared down at Zayn. “Don’t go anywhere, Malik. I need to do a thing.”

“All right.” The furrow between Zayn’s brows seemed authoritative enough to make Louis get up to his leaden feet. Too bad he was now too far away from Zayn to twist his nipple. He wasn’t allowed to look serious for _too_ long.

****

Louis was determined and ambitious and on his way to achieve his dreams. If he’d got sidetracked by a fish tank built into the wall in the downstairs lobby, no one had to know. That was between him and Walter the Puffer Fish.

Maybe he was just stalling. No one had to know that either.

“You’re my right-hand man. Or fish. Whichever you prefer,” he told Walter, tapping against the glass. “We’ve got this.”

Walter wriggled his fins. Louis took it as a clear sign of support, with a side of _don’t fuck this up._

He padded down the corridor on bare feet and paused in front of his father’s office, suddenly feeling a lot less comfortably lazy and more uncomfortably alert. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all, even if he’d been thinking about it a lot recently. Just like, being better somehow. Maybe. 

He rapped on the door before the haze wore off and took all his courage with it. Shuffling in place, his increasingly clammy palm was already about to slide the door to the side as his father’s voice boomed, “Come in!”

He slipped in, only to have two pairs of eyes set on him, curious and expectant. Brilliant. He hadn’t been prepared to be humiliated in front of an audience, but he was nothing if not resilient. 

“What is it, Louis? I’m in a meeting.”

“That’s okay, Charles,” the woman said and Louis vaguely recognised her as working for the firm’s management, “I can wait.”

She gave Louis a kind smile that his tense mouth strained to return. It probably came off more as a grimace. 

He cleared his throat, kept one foot out of the door, as far away from both of them as possible because all he could suddenly think of was, _shit, I smell like weed._

Dad raised his eyebrow. Right. Time was money. _You’re dawdling._

“Dad, can we maybe… can we talk about a job, please?”

“A job,” Dad repeated sceptically, leaning back into his leather chair.

“Yeah. For me.” He just wanted to… wanted to _try_. He couldn’t live off his monthly allowance forever, could he? Didn’t want to be that guy, over forty years old and borrowing dosh off his disapproving father, even if that’s what his father expected. Maybe that was it though. Louis wanted to prove that he could do better than that. Not to his father, because Louis had learned long ago that would only end in disappointment. He wanted to prove it to himself. 

“Like, an internship or… or anything. I don’t give a f—” he flicked his gaze to Dad’s guest and clamped his mouth shut. _Fucking manners, Louis._ “I could even clean up the offices. I don’t care. Just… anything, really.”

“I don’t think—”

“He could help me out,” the woman jumped in, turned in her seat so she could look Louis in the eye. “That’s part of why I came to talk to your father, actually. I need someone to help me with the workload. An intern. I’m bloody swamped.”

A smile pushed at the corners of Louis’ mouth. A smile that slumped right off just as quickly once his father opened his mouth and said, “I hardly think that’s a good idea. He’s got no experience. You don’t need someone to get under your feet and make your work even more difficult.” 

Louis should have been used to it. To being talked about as if he wasn’t even here, standing a few feet away, as if he was nothing but a useless waste of space. Didn’t mean it failed to wriggle under his skin and settle right under the surface. 

“I’m sure he’ll do an adequate job.”

“Your funeral, Karen. Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Dad said with a shrug, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the desk again. “Anything else, Louis, or can we get back to business?”

He ground his jaw so hard his molars ached, forced himself to relax as his gaze met Karen’s. “Thank you, I… I’ll do my best.”

“All right,” his father cut in, “I’ll give her your cell and you can hash this out later.” His voice brooked no argument so Louis just nodded and said his goodbyes, wondering how much of a failure he was going to be if he proved his father right.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TELL ME ALL YOUR THOUGHTS


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GISELLE IS THE BOMB
> 
> Previously: Drunk Harry wants to lick Nutella off naked boys, Zayn is intimidatingly pretty and Louis' father is the human definition of a smelly ballsack.

“I don’t want to go to work. I’m sad,” Harry groaned into Liam’s thigh. He got a very unsympathetic pat on his shoulder. Maybe he should bite Liam’s thigh.

“Ow, fuck! _Harry._ ”

“You deserved that,” Harry said once he unclamped his teeth and flopped onto his back so he could glare up at Liam’s face directly.

Liam sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not. I can’t believe you’re leaving us. Have we not been giving you enough love, Liam?” He pouted for good measure, even though he was joking. Kind of.

“I’m not leaving you,” Liam said fondly and petted Harry’s hair, which was just unfair because he knew damn well Harry liked that a lot. He couldn’t help but be a cat at heart, but now was not that time to be taking advantage of that. “I’ll be living a few blocks away from you guys.”

Liam hadn’t been around much these past few weeks, but the thought of not finding him scratching his balls in the middle of the kitchen on a Saturday morning was still rather strange. 

Must have been nice though. The whole ‘constant sex with the love of your life and being a functional grown-up’ thing. It kind of made Harry feel like he should get his act together too. Be an adult, and stuff. 

He didn’t like that one bit.

“When are you leaving for work?” Liam asked, scratching Harry’s scalp in a frustratingly pleasant way.

“About fifteen minutes.” 

A shift at the bar, which meant probably spilling another round of Vodka on himself and getting flirted with. He only enjoyed the second part. 

“You should have sold the rich dude’s coat on Ebay,” Niall said once he emerged from his bedroom, settling into the armchair and tipping a can of Coke to his lips. “Might have afforded to take more time off from the bakery, at least.”

Harry pushed the thought of Louis away, told himself it didn’t fucking matter anymore. Not with the rest of his life all tangled up and bite marks fading into yellow. 

Soon though, he told himself. Something had to give.

****

Liam had moved out two days ago and Niall and Harry were prepared to shoulder the burden of extra rent until they found a suitable flatmate. They didn’t want just anyone, and if that meant pulling more extra shifts to cover the cost? So be it. Even if he’d been recently tired enough to fall asleep in the most outrageous places. Yesterday he’d nodded off in the shower and the week before that in a chair in his dentist’s waiting room.

“You home?” he called as he keyed into the dark flat and kicked off his scuffed up boots. His toes were about to poke holes through the tips but he refused to buy new ones, no matter how often Niall complained. They were his favourites.

No response.

Niall was out then. 

Harry rubbed a tired hand down his face, could vaguely smell the smoke clinging to his clothes and hair. He really needed a shower, but without Niall here to rescue him, he worried he’d fall asleep and rack up the bill for warm water.

Everything would be much more bearable if he got someone to wash his hair for him and tuck him into a bed that _didn’t_ have a spring digging into his back, maybe even rub his sore feet. 

Maybe he should put an ad on Craigslist. _‘Seeking cute boy for cuddles, head massages and blowjobs. Must like kittens and babies.’_

There was at least a two percent chance he’d got a non-creepy response.

Not that he couldn’t pull. He’d got four slips with phone numbers just tonight. Only one of them was from a guy though, and he’d come off too pushy to meet Harry’s demanding list of soulmate criteria. Admittedly, he’d written the list when he’d been sixteen and far more naïve, but some of it still applied. Sentimental sod that he was, he’d even glued it into his lyrics journal the last time he’d gone home for Christmas and found the list in the shoebox under his bed.

He fished the numbers out of his skin-tight jeans as he trudged to his bedroom, eyes already half-closed. 

He dumped the scrunched up ball of paper slips into the waste bin by his desk.

_Soon. It’s going to be all worth it._

He fell asleep to the images of smoke filled bars and blue eyes disappearing in the crowd.

****

“You can do this.” He could feel Niall’s gaze boring into the back of his head where he’d plonked face-first into his mattress as if the power of his disapproval alone could somehow magically make Harry get up. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong with me.” Except for the fact Niall wouldn’t let him fucking sleep, wouldn’t let him just… give up. “’M tired.”

The mattress at his side dipped, the warm touch of Niall’s hand in the centre of his back a steady source of both comfort and stomach-churning guilt. He just… couldn’t. 

“I know you are,” Niall said, using his inside voice. That alone told Harry that he’d probably hit rock bottom. “But Harry, mate, this is why you’re here. This is why we moved here, remember?”

“Yeah, well,” Harry said, voice rough, sand coating his throat. “It’s been over a year and nothing’s changed. Maybe I just… maybe I just don’t have it in me.”

“Well, you’ll have my foot up your arse if you don’t get up and get dressed right now.”

“Don’t act like you don’t enjoy seeing me naked.” His voice trembled only a little. Harry counted it as a win.

Niall snorted, his hand shifting to Harry’s hair. If he thought this wouldn’t immediately lull Harry to sleep, Niall clearly didn’t know Harry as well as they both thought he did. 

“Harry, come on. We already promised we’d play, yeah? Do you really want to break your promise?”

What did it matter? What did his word matter when they probably had a dozen other acts lined up to take their place, each more desperate than the last to make it big. To convince themselves they weren’t chasing after smoke, living off pipe dreams.

“Don’t do it because you’re trying to get somewhere,” Niall said, hand knotting in Harry’s tangled curls. “Do it because you love it.”

Harry sighed into the pillow. His joints ached from being on his feet all day, lids drooping under the weight of too much work and not enough sleep and restless nights spent wondering _what if this is all I can do, as good as it gets? What if I end up old and alone, doing nothing but juggling dead-end jobs?_

But maybe Niall was right. Maybe he just needed to stop thinking, get up and remember why he’d left home in the first place. Maybe just doing this was worth it. Worth the jammed car window and overripe bananas and all the laundry piling up in the corner of his room because he didn’t have the strength to sort it out. Worth all the second-hand smoke and shitty flat with thin walls and overpriced croissants he kept selling during the day, because once he was up there on the stage with a mic clutched in his hand and sweat pearling on the nape of his neck, all eyes on him, it felt a lot like flying. 

And he’d always loved to live with his head in the clouds.

“Okay.”

****

Harry wished he smoked. That he’d get an excuse to busy his restless hands, high on adrenaline and stumbling off stage on two clumsy feet, beaming and sweaty and slightly delirious from the lack of sleep.

It might have been his best performance yet. Could have been the worst too. He kind of wanted to hug the entire world anyway. Kind of wanted to sidle up to the bar and throw back a shot or two, feel someone’s-- _anyone’s_ \-- eyes watching the bobbing of his throat as he swallowed. 

He weaved past the small wooden tables, catching people’s glances and showing a dimple, knowing he’d caught their attention, had held it, and thought maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

“Vodka and tonic, please,” he told the bartender, a frail looking girl with thin arms and over made blue eyes, hands strong and sure as she set a crate full of beer bottles behind the bar and straightened back up to give him a tired smile. “And could you put a little lemon wedge in it, too, please?”

“Sure thing, it’ll be—”

“I’ve got it,” a voice beside him said, fingers curling around Harry’s extended wrist. The hand was tan and decidedly manly. Firm. Harry turned his head, smoke-filled air stretching his burning lungs.

“Thank you,” Harry said, watching as the hand lifted off his wrist and delved into a pocket of expensive looking slacks to retrieve a wallet. The brief glimpse of hundreds gave Harry pause. “Just so you know, you can’t pay me to have sex with you.”

The man was older, athletic and just about Harry’s height, wearing a periwinkle blue button-up, light brown hair greying at the temples. His thin lips merely quirked into a smile, grey eyes crinkling at the edges. “I never pay for sex.”

Harry cocked his hip against the counter, lifted the glass and picked the lemon out, sucking on it without flinching. He liked to establish his superiority from the get-go. 

“That includes buying strangers drinks, you know. I think you’re lying to me.”

“Think of it as my thanks for a good gig,” the stranger said, leaning his elbows on the bar and facing away. He had a good profile. Attractive, even. For an older guy. Strangely familiar, for some reason. “Never heard some of those songs before.”

“They’re,” Harry cleared his throat, fiddled with his glass, “they’re mine. Wrote some of them quite recently, actually.” 

At least something good had come off the entire Louis debacle.

“Impressive,” the man said, giving Harry a considering side-glance. “Do you play often?”

“Whenever I can,” Harry said, taking a gulp of his drink, slightly more at ease now when the man hadn’t asked him to elaborate on who and what the songs were about. “It’s the dream, innit? ‘S why I moved here in the first place.”

He wondered if he could charm the guy into paying for his cab home because Niall after gigs was a useless, horny mess who only answered to boobs. He’d probably pulled already and left Harry in the dust. 

He hoped that by the time he made it to the flat, he wouldn’t find Niall arse-naked, balls-deep in a girl bent over their living room couch again. 

Harry ate his morning cereal there. 

“Show business can be… some might say it’s where the dreams come to die.” 

“I’m not naïve. I know it’s not all glamour,” Harry said calmly, trying not to get too defensive, unsure what the man’s deal was. Harry couldn’t read him, couldn’t shake the feeling he was being subjected to some kind of weird twenty questions without knowing the rules. “I don’t expect it to be. It’s always been the only thing I ever wanted to do. The only thing I’ve ever been good at. I’m willing to work hard for it. Take the bad with the good, you know?”

“Not naïve, no,” the man allowed, turning his body to face Harry again. “Idealistic? Yes. Musicians usually are, I’ve come to learn.” 

“Do you know many musicians then?” Harry asked, watching the smirk tip the corner of the man’s mouth.

“A few, yes.” He set the glass of what looked like whiskey down on the counter. He’d barely touched it. “Maybe you can call me some time so we can discuss it further?”

He reached into his pocket and before Harry could even open his mouth to say, _not really looking into re-enacting Pretty Woman_ , a card was pushed into his hand.

“Thanks?” he said finally, glancing down to read it. 

“Don’t thank me yet.” 

The stranger squeezed his shoulder, but Harry barely felt it, could only choke on his breath and lean heavily against the bar as he read, ‘Charles Austin, Front Line Management Company’.

By the time he looked up, the man was gone.

****

“It’s gotta be a hoax,” Niall said as they sat on their living room couch, its awful upholstery covered up with a quilted blanket Harry had made himself.

Niall snatched the card from Harry’s hand, staring at it as intently as he often did at the McDonald’s menu. Harry hoped he wouldn’t try to eat it.

“But I mean, like… maybe not?”

Niall’s brows furrowed even more as he held the card out against their dim overhead light. One of the two light bulbs had burned out a couple days ago, but buying a new one wasn’t quite a priority just yet. 

Harry preferred intimate lighting anyway. 

“It’s not a bill, Niall.”

“Shh,” Niall hushed him then… smelled the card? All right. That was enough.

Harry was about to take it back when Niall held onto his wrist. “It’s quality paper.”

“I was trying to tell yo—”

“Are you sure it’s not a ruse for some kind of escort service? I mean, you’ve got them long legs and dimples. Might get a couple hundred a night for you.”

“A couple hundred!” Harry balked, really fucking offended. “I’d at least get a couple thousand!”

“Hm,” Niall eyed him from his bare feet curled into the cheap, scratchy carpet to his flattened hair. It had been a long day, okay? He’d go shower in a minute. Bloody hell. “Maybe.”

“Bugger off,” Harry laughed and shoved at Niall’s shoulder, who promptly toppled over on his side and kicked out at Harry’s side. Harry grabbed the socked foot with little guitars on it—Harry’s gift—and held it hostage. “Weren’t you the one to get on me for being negative? Where’s your belief in luck and good fortune?”

“Maybe I’m not the leprechaun you thought I was,” Niall said with a put-upon sigh and gracefully accepted Harry’s weight once he abandoned Niall’s foot in favour of full-bodied cuddles.

“Front Line Management, Niall.”

“Fuck, I know.”

“Sounds too good to be true, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe you’re too good to be true.”

Harry hid his smile in Niall’s shoulder and said, “Maybe _we_ are.”

Maybe their luck was about to change.

****

“You’re late,” Karen said, staring at Louis sternly past the rim of her thick-framed glasses from where she was sitting behind her desk, dark hair pulled into a bun so tight it made Louis’ scalp itch in sympathy.

“I’m sorry, I’m so, so—”

“Don’t let it happen again.” She rose from her leather chair, not unlike some middle-aged, quietly plotting villain, and walked over to him until he could smell Chanel. “Between you and me, I’m really rooting for you. I’m rather set on proving Charles wrong about you, so… don’t let me down.”

He’d never felt smaller. Maybe because he _cared_. Maybe because for the first time in his life, someone actually believed he could do something beyond maxing out his father’s credit card.

He could have given Karen a million excuses. Could have said, _my phone ran out of battery at night and I woke up covered in come because my brain won’t stop rehashing a fucking one-night stand that happened ages ago_ , but… He didn’t want to be _that_ guy. 

“I won’t. I promise.”

“Good,” she said, firm but not unkind. She squeezed Louis’ shoulder. He thought he might have seen a smile. “Ready for some work?”

Not in the slightest. 

“Bring it on, Kay-Kay.”

“Don’t call me that ever again.”

“Okay.”

The rest of the day didn’t really get much better. 

After Karen had dumped a pile of paperwork for him to sort out by date, a disgruntled employee had jostled him while he’d been making tea in the small kitchenette. Louis ended up walking around the office with a brown stain on his white sleeve, pretty sure it hadn’t been an accident. 

Nepotism was not welcome here, it seemed. Who would have thought?

By the time he finished with the sorting, it had been something over two hours and his eyes were itching. Karen was in a meeting and he was pretty sure she’d given him a slip of paper with the computer login information and passwords but he couldn’t bloody find it and the last time he’d asked that ginger guy sitting closest to him, he’d got a disinterested “I don’t know” for a response.

He adjusted the pile of contracts for the fifth time then fidgeted with his damp sleeve. Maybe he should run through it one more time just to make sure he hadn’t messed up. Maybe he should hide it in the drawer of his borrowed desk and say a dog ate it, just in case he had. He desperately didn’t want Karen to realise she’d been wrong to trust him.

He got up, sweeping his fringe out of his eyes, glancing helplessly around for anyone who might be able to tell him what he was supposed to do now. Or maybe he shouldn’t. Was that needy? Was he supposed to be doing something now and he was just unaware? 

He watched the bustle and ringing phones and the buzz of people talking to each in the open space, and definitely not talking to him. They all seemed to know what they were doing, knew each other, and he felt like a bloody idiot who couldn’t even turn his computer on.

After catching more than one grumpy look cast in his direction, he slipped away from his desk and hovered by Karen’s door. It was still locked, which meant she was still in a meeting. He’d just… wait then.

It was when he was passing by the water station that he accidentally overheard someone saying, “He’s probably bored. I just hope no one’s expecting me to fix any mess he makes.” He didn’t have to be a genius to know they were talking about him.

He pocketed his phone and snuck out for a breather. Or, well, as much as one could do so in men’s bathroom.

He locked himself away in an empty stall and tried to breathe past the weight pressing down on his chest. 

“Zayn,” he said right after Zayn picked up, “Save me.”

“Afraid I can’t, babe. Busy helping my mum organise a gallery opening.”

“Fuck, sorry. Thought that was tomorrow.” He did not slide down the wall of a cubicle and huddle there like a desperate loser who couldn’t even handle a few scathing looks. That was not in his nature. _He_ was the one who threw scathing looks.

“You all right?”

“Fine,” he cut off, annoyed with himself, because no matter how long he’d known Zayn, his first reaction would always be to jump to offense. “I spilled tea on my shirt and I can’t remember all the passwords and logins and… everybody hates me here.”

“Well, you are the boss’ son. Afraid you’re not gonna be the golden child there. As for the shirt… it’s just a shirt, Lou. You’ve got plenty more at home.”

It wasn’t just a shirt. It was _Prada_. It was one of his favourites. Mum had sent it to him for Christmas. “Thanks for the reassurance.”

Zayn’s tone had considerably softened when he spoke next, “Listen, Lou, don’t mind the fuckers, yeah? You’ll always be my golden boy.”

It startled a laugh out of him. He tucked his knees closer to his chest and shook his head even though Zayn couldn’t see him. “Knew it was just a matter of time before you couldn’t resist my bum anymore.”

“Bro,” Zayn said, “It’s the only thing I ever want to paint.”

“Like one of your French girls?”

“Yes, Rose.”

Louis hid his shaky grin in his knees and just listened to Zayn breathe, feeling a little better, a little less out of place already. 

“Z?”

“Yeah, babe?”

“How do I make them not hate me?”

Louis heard hushed voices then a door clicking shut on Zayn’s end before Zayn spoke again. “I’d say ‘who even cares’, but since I know you do… just be yourself? Maybe show them you’re willing to do the work, not just sit there and expect to be given things? Think that might help, yeah? But it’s only been a day. Give it time.”

Louis nodded, wondering if he could even do this, if he had it in him at all to not fuck up everything he touched. 

“All right, Lou?”

“Yeah,” he whispered. He shook his head and forced out a chuckle, clutching the phone closer to his ear. “Fuck, ‘m so embarrassing. Sorry.”

“Nah, man. You want to drop by the gallery when you’re done? We can go to mine and rewatch _The Dark Knight_ ,” Zayn said because he never gave Louis shit for being weak.

“Can we get tiramisu too?”

“Well, we’ve got to keep your bum big _somehow_.”

“Shut up,” Louis said, laughing, dragging his knuckles across his sore eyes. He should have remembered to bring his glasses. “I need to go.”

“Okay. Go get ‘em, Boobear.”

“I love you,” Louis said, annoyingly fond.

“I love you too,” Zayn said, a grin in his voice.

When Louis finally got up, his bum was cold and sore from sitting on the tiles and he felt decidedly like a fool. The very definition of a sad cliché, hiding away in a bathroom and craving reassurance. He needed to pull it the fuck together, because he’d never let anyone see that they’d got under his skin.

 _Only ever show weakness when it serves your goals_ , his father’s voice reminded him. Probably the only good advice he’d ever given Louis.

It would have been so easy to just give up, but. He may have not been the brightest or the most cunning, but he was stubborn. Stubborn and determined to at least this once do something right for a change, to be able to walk up to his father and say, “you’ve been wrong about me all this time”. 

He slipped out of the stall, gaze darting around the bathroom in case he needed to bolt before anyone saw what a mess he was. It was empty. Clean and sterile and grey. He set his phone down by the sinks and stretched his hands out under the tap until tepid water burst out. 

His reflection frowned back at him from a spotless mirror. 

“Pull it together,” he told himself, grimacing at his reddened eyes and drying his hands on a paper towel. He balled it up and threw it in the bin, the door already swinging shut behind him when he remembered he’d left his phone in there.

****

So, it’s not that Harry was freaking out, per se. He was just… slightly intimidated. Nearly knocked his hat off when he tried to adjust it by its brim and wiped his clammy palms on his jean-clad thighs before stepping inside the building.

His heels made a loud, clicking noise.

He was directed to go up, up, up to the seventeenth floor, wait in the lobby because his nerves had spurred him out of the flat about forty minutes before he’d really needed to leave, paranoid that the traffic would have held him up and made him miss out on the biggest opportunity in his life.

He wasn’t freaking out _at all_.

Amidst all the suits and pencil skirts and the smell of coffee, AC whirring enough to raise goose bumps on his skin, he fit right in. The receptionist whose gaze darted over to him for the fourth time in the span of a minute was certainly regretting not wearing plaid to work today, Harry was sure of it.

Maybe he should have worn one of Sophia’s pencil skirts instead.

He clambered to his feet abruptly, knee knocking into the little coffee table. He returned the receptionist’s curious, mildly concerned gaze with a pained smile and a spastic hand gesture. Someone should have glued his damn hands together. Gemma always told him he was like a bloody windmill.

“I’m just gonna,” he thumbed over in a random direction, feet curving in, “loo.”

The receptionist gave him a confused smile that told Harry she had no idea what ‘loo’ was. Either that, or his announcement about him relieving his bladder had for some reason puzzled her. 

He realised locking himself inside a stall might have been a mistake when he heard someone burst into the bathroom, clearly unaware they weren’t alone as they started to talk to someone on the phone. Either that or they were having a chat with a loo ghost. Harry wasn’t ruling anything out.

Harry realised he was well and truly stuck now. As quiet as the bathroom was, him trying to sneak out of the stall would have been equal to an elephant stampede.

Also, he kind of still needed to pee.

“How do I make them not hate me?” the person asked quietly.

Harry muffled his quickening breath in the bend of his elbow and considered covering his ears because this felt a lot like a gross invasion of privacy, no matter how much Harry didn’t want to be stuck here. He couldn’t though. Not if he wanted to make sure he didn’t miss the person leaving.

He tried to tune the voice out and stared at the top of the pristine white toilet lid instead, willing himself not to move an inch or make a sound. 

His nose itched. And no. _Oh no._

He clamped his hand over his nose as hard as he could, eyes squeezed shut, thinking, _you are not going to fucking sneeze_ , with the kind of furious conviction usually reserved for keeping Niall’s grubby hands off his nuts. 

_Cashew_ nuts.

The itch was getting worse.

Then finally, _finally_ , he could hear the little click of a stall door opening and falling shut, followed by a rush of water that reminded Harry just why he’d gone to the loo in the first place. 

He was not going to piss his pants in a bloody bathroom. That would have been too ironic to even consider.

The person mumbled something to themselves and for a moment Harry could hear a faint bustle of the world outside as the door opened. 

Oh, thank God.

He lifted the toilet lid the second the door closed and had his cock in his hand in two seconds flat. And he must have done something really awful, despicable even, to earn this bad a karma because the moment he finally let go, a relieved groan on the tip of his tongue, the door reopened.

“Can’t believe I forgot my bloody ph—” the voice, the very same voice Harry had been trying his best not to eavesdrop on, cut off.

Harry couldn’t stop pissing like a racehorse. 

He also sneezed. 

Twice.

The rather distressed slap of the feet on the bathroom tiles before the door closed again was probably nothing but Harry’s too vivid imagination.

****

If Louis hadn’t been the joke of the office, he was definitely going to be one now. Someone had heard him whining and feeling sorry for himself in a fucking bathroom, someone who’d probably put two and two together and realise that yeah, must have been the new guy. The great Louis Tomlinson who couldn’t even handle one day working without acting pathetic.

He kind of really wanted to quit.

To make matters worse, his father who was standing by the reception spotted him as he was about to walk past. His hand clasped around Louis’ shoulder firmly and turned him around. For the longest while, he did nothing but stare. 

“Can I have a minute, son?” he asked after a tense moment of uncomfortable silence.

Louis dragged in a steadying breath and picked his gaze off the floor, nodding.

Dad was probably about to fire him for being late anyway.

The door to Dad’s office closed behind them. Louis remembered when he’d first been here, remembered his ten-year-old self sitting in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the centre of LA, jaw dropped in awe as he looked up to his father.

He couldn’t quite look at him now, gaze dead set on the leather tips of his father’s shoes.

His father had never liked to air his dirty laundry in public. Louis was quite grateful for it now.

“Just say it,” Louis said, voice rougher than he’d have liked. Out of control. He hated the way his father always managed to wriggle under his skin. _Guess that’s what happens when you love someone, even if you don’t want to._

“You know,” Dad said, the tips of his shoes drawing closer, “I was actually about to give you the benefit of the doubt. Karen told me you’ve been working diligently all morning, actually _helping_ her.”

Startled, Louis looked up, met his father’s eyes, grey and narrowed and so much like his own. Funny how despite his words, his face held that note of disappointment Louis was more than familiar with.

“You had to go and mess it up, didn’t you?” 

Louis should have _known_. “Wh—”

Dad tipped Louis’ chin up, his lips a thin line. “I thought not being under influence in the workplace went without saying.”

His touch disappeared and Louis almost staggered forward, barely caught himself from tripping over his own feet, drunk on his own confusion, his own hurt. When would he ever fucking learn that it was par for the course? “What are you—”

“Are you going to deny it then?” Dad said, short and snappy, putting more distance between them as he headed over to sit behind his desk. “I can see how red your eyes are, Louis. Don’t _lie_ to me.”

A short, sharp laugh punched out of his too tight lungs, brain staggered to a halt. He _thought_ … fuck. Of course he did. That’s all Louis ever was to him. A good-for-nothing, weed-smoking disappointment. What was he supposed to say anyway? _No, I hadn’t fucking smoked a joint, my eyes are red because I spent all morning staring at hundreds of spreadsheets after getting next to no sleep?_

Dad wouldn’t have believed him anyway.

“Doesn’t matter what I tell you, you already made up your mind.”

He turned to go.

“We’re not done here yet,” Dad said.

Louis paused, hands shaking. “If you want to fire me, just do it.”

“You’re not my responsibility. That’s up to Karen.”

_Not my responsibility._

Yeah, Louis was well aware. He’d got used to getting things in place of affection and loved to take advantage of it, pretend he liked it better that way. That he didn’t need anything else. That he didn’t sometimes wish his father would come up to him and say, “you can do this, and if you can’t, that’s okay too”. 

“Do try to refrain from your habits while you’re here,” Dad said, never one to pass up an opportunity to drive his point home. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t embarrass me in front of my colleagues.”

Louis swallowed hard and pulled in a breath, breathed it shallowly out through his nostrils. He couldn’t speak around the knot in his throat so he just nodded tightly and moved towards the door.

He was just about to open it when someone knocked.

“Yes, come in!” Dad called out, calm and collected as if nothing had happened at all. To him, it probably hadn’t.

The door opened, Dad’s secretary peering in, an apologetic expression firmly in place as she glanced between them and said, “Sorry to disturb you, Sir, your one o’clock appointment is here.”

Louis wondered if she could read everything on his face. If she knew his own father didn’t want him around just as much as half the employees working on the floor.

“Excuse me,” Louis said quietly and ducked around her to walk out of the office, eyes on the floor.

“Louis?”

The voice stopped him in his tracks, hesitant fingers twitching up to Louis’ elbow, dropping before they could ever make contact. He lifted his head and met wide, startled eyes. 

_Harry._

Bloody _here_ , standing in front of him, all loose curls tumbling down to his shoulders and plaid unbuttoned to his goddamn stomach and cheeks a little ashen. His mouth was somehow better than Louis remembered. Plush and bitten raspberry pink, parted around a silent question the same way it did when he’d been leaning in for a kiss. 

Louis blinked twice, couldn’t find his voice. Felt too much like a raw, open wound to take this kind of scrutiny from a _one night stand._

He didn’t want to feel anything right now.

“Mister Austin will see you now, Mister Styles.”

The voice jolted them both back to awareness, Louis’ gaze skittering away, because what the actual fuck was Harry doing here, seeing his father? 

His heart pounded against his ribcage.

Just because Harry had seen him naked didn’t mean he had any kind of hold on Louis. He was done with people getting under his skin.

Without another word, he stepped out of Harry’s way and walked away without turning back.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People in their twenties are a bloody mess. This is hashtag confirmed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously: Niall is not a leprechaun, Zayn wants to paint Louis' bum like one of his French girls, and Harry and Louis meet again, dun-dun-dunnnn!
> 
> God bless Giselle for being a wonderful beta!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS

Charles Austin’s office had been built to impress. As Harry sat down on a chair and shifted his gaze from the staggeringly beautiful view to the wall on his left, covered floor-to-ceiling with photos of Charles with every music star imaginable, he knew he should have been intimidated. He would have been, if it hadn’t been for the muted echo of _LouisLouisLouis_ playing on constant loop in his brain.

The way he’d looked at Harry, unblinking and guarded, mouth taut as he ducked Harry’s gaze as if he didn’t exist. As if he’d never touched Louis at all.

_Doesn’t matter. Not right now. Not ever. Not why I’m here._

“You made me miss it, you know,” Charles told him, fingers steepled, eyes crinkling at the edges. Harry felt a disquieting, vague sense of déjà vu that he couldn’t place. “Don’t get me wrong. My position has a lot of perks, but… I guess you can take the guy out of A&R, but you can’t take the A&R out of a guy.”

Harry managed a smile, pretended his heart wasn’t about to beat out of his chest. 

“Do you miss scouting then?” he asked, because Niall had always been obsessed with the inner workings of the music industry and Harry had been his reluctantly willing recipient. He’d also Googled the guy’s resume. Charles Austin, the executive vice president, former talent scout and manager of the biggest names in the music industry. 

_Shit. Just… don’t lose your head. Don’t let him sweet-talk you into some bullshit kind of deal._ The last thing Harry wanted was to get what he’d wanted all his life, only to become a slave, dressed up and cut into pieces to fit the mold.

“So you know your lingo then?” Charles’ eyes lit up and he leaned back in his chair, the LA skyline lying at his feet. 

Harry wondered what it felt like to be at the top of the world, wondered if he’d find out himself one day.

“I know a little,” he admitted, hands a little clammy as Charles asked him to give him a sample of his music. As Harry handed the USB stick over, he wondered if his foot wouldn’t stop jiggling because he was a breath away from finally being on the right path or knowing Louis had never been a path at all.

****

“Are you stalking me then?”

Harry’s step faltered, the April breeze warm and dry on his skin. The tips of his fingers felt cold.

He turned on his heel, the voice sparking a certain note of recognition now. The voice and the bathroom and _Louis_. Fuck. 

Dragging his own gaze off the crack in the pavement to meet Louis’ eyes was harder then he’d expected. He refused to feel any sympathy for someone who had everything given to him on a silver platter, for someone who had begged for Harry in the backseat of his car even though he probably had a boyfriend. 

“I wasn’t—”

“Thanks for the home visit, by the way. You didn’t have to,” Louis said it carelessly, tone bordering on curious contempt. His legs were crossed at the ankle as he leaned against the side of the building, a lit cigarette between slender fingers, the sleeve of his shirt stained light brown. 

Harry hated himself for wanting to press his teeth into Louis’ Achilles heel, to suck bruises into the delicate bones of his bare ankles until it hurt. Maybe he was just as awful of a person as Louis was.

“I did have to,” he said, refusing to give Louis the fight he was clearly looking for, even though anger was starting to prickle up his spine. Just because he didn’t have as much money didn’t mean he’d keep things that weren’t his. “Not my coat, is it?”

For a second he envied Louis for smoking, because his own hands were useless, empty, just hanging there by his sides with nothing to do. 

“Wouldn’t have missed it anyhow. Got plenty more.” Louis’ cheeks hollowed out around the cigarette, brows arched in a goading, belligerent way, everything about him just screaming _‘I’m better than you’._

Not the first time Harry had duped himself into believing there was more to someone than met the eye. At least he _knew_ now. Knew for sure that Louis was nothing but a spoilt, self-centered twat who expected the world to be at his beck and call, probably feeling sorry for himself when things didn’t go his way.

“Too small for me to wear anyway,” he said, because a part of him wanted to take Louis down a notch and lads like him were always sensitive about their height. 

Smoke curled out of Louis’ mouth, cheeks flushed pink as he spit out, “At least I don’t have to shop at places for bloody giants.”

Bingo. 

Fuck, he was so transparent.

Harry couldn’t help it. He _laughed_. Bent over at the waist and slapped his thighs, because Louis was fuming, obviously baffled that Harry wasn’t offended at all, and Harry couldn’t help but remember the way Louis had keened when Harry’s tongue had been in his bum and just… that could never, ever happen again. Because meeting Louis again wasn’t fate. It was nothing but a collision of chances and timing, and all they’d ever been meant for was crashing and burning all at once and fizzling right after.

He deserved better than heartless one night stands, no matter how passionate they could be. How close to ‘something real’ it could feel when he was lost in the moment, because once the haze lifted and Harry could see Louis clearly, he was nothing but a fluke. Not worth it, even if the sight of him made Harry want to push him against the brick wall and suck the smoke out of his mouth.

Louis had been right. It had been nothing but ‘a fuck’, and Harry had been naïve to believe it could have been anything more.

“You’ve gone bloody bonkers, haven’t you? Anyone wearing a hat like that has got to be a lunatic.”

Harry readjusted the said hat as he straightened up, wondering why Louis was still here, still talking to him, if he found Harry so displeasing. “Why are you still talking to me then?”

“Want to know why you’re here,” Louis said, as though Harry was ignorant for even asking. 

“I had a meeting. Not that it concerns you.” He took a step back. Putting more distance between them was all he wanted right now, because as much as he resented Louis, his body clearly disagreed, kept pulling him into Louis’ orbit. “Definitely not stalking you.”

“Meeting with ‘Mister Austin’,” Louis said, putting a rather mocking emphasis on the name and shouldering off the wall. “What for?”

“Why don’t you go ask him?” Another step back.

Louis took one step forward, flicking the stub of the cigarette to the ground. The ashes sparked against the concrete, cherry red flaring out into grey. “I’d rather ask you.”

Harry pretended to think about it, feeling a vindictive kind of pleasure when Louis’ gaze flitted to his lips and lingered. It shouldn’t have made Harry think of cupping the back of Louis’ head and leaning in until he could feel Louis’ breath tickle his mouth, but it did anyway.

_Even if he doesn’t have a boyfriend, he’s still a twat, what the fuck is wrong with you? What the fuck is wrong with him?_

“Thanks, but no,” Harry said, refused to listen to his cock rather than his brain and stood his ground. Barely. 

He’d never been the champion of willpower.

Louis licked over his lips, took another step forward, and Harry startled, watching Louis warily now because he couldn’t bloody figure him out. Harry couldn’t look away, felt a little trapped in place, because Louis had been trying to belittle him two seconds ago and now he was staring at Harry as though he wanted to take a bite.

“You’re, um… you’re _littering_ ,” Harry stuttered out, frowning, memories vivid with the way Louis’ breath had felt skimming over his cock, thinking _bloody stop playing along to his mind games._

Louis blinked at him, hand falling to his side as if he just remembered himself. “Are you ever going to answer my question or are you just going to yap on about preserving the environment?” He looked pointedly around at the long stretches of concrete around them.

They lapsed into a silent battle of wills, Harry’s whole body coiled tight and ready to snap. He just wanted to… wanted to grab Louis by his narrow waist, torn between biting his neck and pushing him away because he was too close, so close his cologne wouldn’t stop tickling Harry’s nose every time the wind picked up. 

The last thing Harry wanted to do was tell him anything, least of all something that wasn’t even a set deal yet. Harry wasn’t even sure he wanted it now if it meant having to face Louis on a regular basis.

Screw that, actually. 

He’d be damned if he let Louis ruin this for him. “What does it even matter to you?”

Louis’ cheeks were tinted red. A beat passed and then, “You’re right. It doesn’t. Just because we shagged once doesn’t… we’re not _anything_.”

Harry’s phone started to buzz against his thigh. 

He broke the eye contact, unsettled and off balance, reaching into his pocket to grab his phone, wondering why he even let Louis’ words touch him at all. Why they left him feeling nauseous.

“I should—” he said awkwardly, kicking himself the second the words left his mouth. Why couldn’t he ever just fuck them and chuck them without tripping over his own feelings in the process? Why couldn’t he ever just… not care?

His phone was already up to his ear and feet stumbling backwards when Louis’ shoulder lifted in a sardonic shrug, as though asking _what’s it to me?_

Yeah, Harry had made the right choice.

_Stop wearing your heart on your sleeve for people who wouldn’t care to crush it._

****

“You should have seen his stupid hat, it was—”

“Stupid?” Zayn asked, a handful of popcorn already en route to his mouth. 

“Yes!” Louis barely resisted the urge to upend the bowl of popcorn over Zayn’s head, because he wouldn’t stop looking at Louis as though he could read all Louis’ thoughts and found them ridiculous. “Stop looking at me like that.”

Zayn shrugged, chewing in quiet contemplation as he regarded Louis from his beanbag, lights of the private cinema screen dancing over the side of his face. “Can’t help it. Blowjob Lips has got you all up in a strop. It’s funny.”

“I don’t like him.”

“Did I say that you did?” Zayn asked, eyebrow arched.

“It was implied,” Louis grumbled and stuffed his mouth full of popcorn so he wouldn’t have to say anything else. Harry was so forgettable, really. Him and his stupid hat and the way he’d smelled when Louis had let his feet carry him too close because his brain hadn’t been paying attention. And then he’d _laughed_ at Louis, right in his fucking face as if Louis was the butt of a joke. 

_We’re not anything._

Louis slumped into his beanbag, pointedly ignoring the pang of conscience. He’d been a bit too harsh maybe, even though he knew dismissal when he saw one. He refused to acknowledge it had stung his pride. He was a lot of things, but _he_ was not forgettable.

“You always do this, you know.” Zayn was facing the massive screen again, the family ring on his left hand glinting in the dim light. “Act like fancying someone is the end of the world. That you’re too good for it. It’s all right to let yourself like someone every once in a while.”

“I like _you_. That’s already far too much affection for me to handle.” Louis relinquished the popcorn bowl from Zayn’s hands and hugged it close to his chest the way he always did with anything resembling a feeling.

“I reckon I got lucky. Got in there before you turned into a sour tosser,” Zayn said, a smile pulling at his lips. “And it doesn’t count anyway.”

“Doesn’t count?!” Louis threw a spare pillow at Zayn’s offensive face. “And you wonder why I have trust issues.”

Zayn rolled his eyes, his usual response to Louis’ dramatic behaviour. “You know I didn’t mean it like that. Of course it counts. I’m just saying… I would quite like to see you happy, you know. Like, really happy, not ‘I just bought a mirror with Facebook app on it’ kind of happy.”

“I’ll have you know that mirror makes me really fucking happy.” 

And it wasn’t that Louis was afraid of commitment. He just didn’t _want_ it right now, had never met anyone he could even think of dating, never mind spending the rest of his life with, and wasn’t that really the point of being with anyone? Go big or go home, yeah?

He’d only end up fucking it all up anyway, just like he always did, and end up hurting someone else in the process. He didn’t need to live under that kind of pressure. 

“I don’t want to date anyone anyway. What’s the point? If I want sex, I can hook up with anyone. If I want cuddles, I’ve got you. It’s perfect, really.” 

“Not all relationships are doomed to fail, Lou.”

“I’m not childish enough to think that,” he said, itching with the need to change the topic, away from feelings and his impending life of loneliness and a mansion full of dogs. That would have made his father turn over in his crypt, so at least there was that. 

He was a bloody cat person. 

“No relationships for me. I like my life the way it is now, thanks.” 

Zayn’s exasperated sigh didn’t surprise Louis at all. He’d been expecting it.

“You in control of everything, you mean,” Zayn said.

“Precisely.” Louis nudged Zayn’s ankle with his foot. “Now stop being maudlin and let’s find out how much popcorn I can fit in my mouth.”

****

They’d found a new flatmate.

Harry should have known she equalled trouble the moment he’d seen her giving Niall the side-eye. Niall, for his part, could barely stop grinning at her long enough to close his mouth and chew. But he’d been weak and distracted with the memory of breathing in the same air as Louis bloody Tomlinson to think rationally. God knew _that_ wasn’t Niall’s strong point.

He should have known, yet he still dropped his grocery bag in shock when he entered the flat and found Niall and Ella shagging against the kitchen counter. Oranges rolled out of the bag. 

“You better clean up after yourselves! With bleach!” he yelled out and staggered to his room with one hand over his eyes. Was nothing sacred?

Niall’s bedroom door slammed shut and the giggles and muffled sex noises resumed shortly after.

It seemed like their new flatmate had about as much shame as both Niall and Harry combined. Harry might have made a big, big mistake.

****

Harry hadn’t slept properly in three days.

With a pillow pressed to his ear, he lay on his side and glared at the adjacent wall to Niall’s room as though he could telepathically let his friend know that while he was vaguely impressed with Niall’s stamina, the continuous late night shaggathons were not appreciated. Especially not when Harry had been pulling a double shift today and was supposed to meet Charles again tomorrow.

It didn’t mean he’d see Louis again, and why was he even thinking about him? 

Louis spelled nothing but trouble, with his condescending eyebrows and a superior tilt to his mouth and delicate bones that Harry wanted to press his fingers into even though he bloody well knew how wrong it was. Just as wrong as even letting Louis needle under his skin.

_Skin, skin, skin._ Soft and sweet like melted caramel, and _no_. He was not doing this. He was not going to think of Louis at all, least of all fantasize about the way Louis’ flesh had given under his hands, how he’d spread his thighs wider and pushed back against Harry to get him just a little bit deeper, letting Harry pretend it had been more than just a fuck. 

It hadn’t. 

And even though he could never stand to be with someone like Louis—Louis, who had never had to work for anything in his entire life, who thought he was so above it all, above _Harry_ , dressed up in his suit, all sharp angles and soft curves and a biting tongue— Harry was stiffening up in his pants anyway.

Shit.

Why couldn’t it have been different? Why hadn’t they just fallen into each other as perfectly as their bodies had, clicking right away because they were meant to be? Why did Harry’s love life always had to go tits up?

The noises from the next room had stopped and Harry found himself rolling onto his back and blinking up at the ceiling, fisting the duvet with both hands so he wouldn’t reach down.

Every time he shifted or even breathed, it only got worse and trying not to think of Louis only flooded his brain with image after image of Louis that didn’t help the situation at all. 

He thought of the way Louis had smelled like smoke and fancy aftershave when he’d stepped into Harry’s personal space as if he had the right, and Harry had always found smokers a turn off, but at that moment he’d wanted nothing more than to press in close and lick the taste out of Louis’ mouth. Taste all of him, maybe. 

He imagined what it would have been like if Louis had been less of a prick, kinder and less derisive and without a possible boyfriend.

Harry would have shoved him against a wall in his flat and undone each little button of his shirt, kissed his way down Louis’ torso until he had to drop down to his knees. 

Louis would have tracked his every move with narrowed eyes and canted his hips towards Harry’s panting mouth, fingers knotted in Harry’s hair to keep him close. Harry would have nuzzled Louis’ belly, kissed it until the muscles tensed and quivered against his tongue, the little trail of hair disappearing beneath the waistband scratchy on his chin.

“Just take me in your mouth already,” Louis would have said because he was impatient and a little bossy and that side of him shouldn’t be turning Harry on, but right now it did, more than anything.

By the time Harry noticed he’d been rubbing his cock through the duvet, he realised he was fighting a losing battle.

_Just… this once. Just for the last time. Just to get the memory of him out of my system. One last time and it’s all over._

He threw the duvet off to the side, skin too tight and hot, shivering as he trailed his fingers down his bare torso, shoving his boxers down his hips to his thighs. He didn’t touch himself, just scratched his blunt nails through his trimmed pubic hair and bit down on his lip hard enough to keep the little whine in, because Louis wouldn’t have let him either. He’d have gripped his hair tight and rubbed his clothed cock over Harry’s parted mouth, saying, “Suck me.”

He’d have teased, just nosing at Louis’ belly and sucking at the hardened length through Louis’ trousers, spit soaking into the fabric, dead set on making Louis lose his composure.

He was aching to touch himself, hard and starting to leak as he scratched down his inner thighs and back up again, knuckles grazing his balls. He had to swallow hard, mouth watering as he imagined popping the button of Louis’ trousers open and tugging the zipper down with his teeth, shrugging off the guilt easier now, because all his blood had rushed from his brain down to his pulsing cock and it was always easiest to admit things in the dark.

He wanted to drag Louis’ trousers and pants down, watch how the head would catch on the fabric before it sprang back up, flushed dark red and pearling at the top. He’d have licked out, just to have a taste, rubbing his lips over it back and forth until they were slick and Louis was cursing, thighs shaking under Harry’s gripping palms.

Then finally, _finally_ , as he imagined parting his mouth and sucking Louis inside, Harry let his fingertips brush up the length of his cock and tease at the tip. He was wet, jerking and pulsing under his barely-there touch, had to push a pillow against his face for something to bite on, to muffle the sounds.

“Fuck, so good,” Louis would have whispered, voice shot and reverent and hips pushing off the wall, rocking deeper into Harry’s mouth, right to the back of his throat until his eyes watered and he’d have to breathe deep in through his nose. “You love it, don’t you? Love having my cock in your mouth.”

Harry breathed out shakily into the pillow before he lost his grip on it, fingers wrapped tightly around the base and pulling upward, thumb smoothing over the tip. He felt too sensitive and desperate, out of his mind as his hips pushed off the mattress to work into his fist, heart pounding in his ears, because he did. Had always loved to have a cock in his mouth, and Louis’ was one of the prettiest he’d ever seen.

“Come on then, take me in deeper. Know you can.” 

_Yes, yeah, fuck, I can, I can._

He could almost feel the tug of Louis’ fingers in his hair, coaxing him to take Louis in even deeper, so deep his nose would have been pressed into Louis’ belly.

His fingers squeezed at the head, sparks of it shivering up his spine and rushing into his brain because _closecloseclose. ___

_“Don’t come before I do.”_

_Harry whimpered, fingers slick with precome as they slid up and down, stripping his length so fast his forearm was starting to ache, toes curling into the sheets._

_He would have sucked Louis in hard, lips stretched around the girth as he bobbed his head, the smooth, silky skin stretched tight over the hard length rubbing over his tongue, his fingertips pressing into the backs of Louis’ shaking thighs as Louis chanted, “Fuck, yes, yes, yes, almost there, Harry, _please_.”_

__Please, please, please._ _

_“Come on, come for me, do it.”_

_The white hot tension in his belly crested and clenched then released, his hips arching off the bed, jerking as he shot come all the way up to his chin._

_He gasped, holding himself loosely, stroking and squeezing the last pulses of come from the slit, shaking, thinking, _I’m never doing this again.__

_When he finally relaxed into the sheets, shame churning in his stomach, a cramp seized his right foot so hard he toppled over on his side and yelped into the pillow._

_Fuck everything, honestly._

__

****

The next morning, Harry trudged into the living room and barely spared a murmured, “good morning” to Niall and Ella who were sprawled on the couch eating leftover pizza for breakfast, wondering how loud he’d been the night before, if they’d heard him.

“Good sleep?” Niall asked, his smile looking suspiciously too much like a smirk.

“Not really,” Harry answered, avoiding Niall’s gaze. “You two might want to keep it down a notch. Some of us need our beauty sleep.”

“You didn’t sound like you minded,” Niall said, which earned him a titter from Ella. 

“I didn’t!” Harry blurted out, his ears burning. “I was… I was just—”

“Jerking off,” Ella filled in, making a crude gesture with her hand.

Harry was really regretting not finding a different flatmate. It was like living with two Nialls. 

“I was thinking of Louis, not—” He clamped his mouth shut and escaped their giggles. The walk to the kitchen felt a lot like a walk of shame.

****

When it came to Louis’ love life, he had two main rules. Always use protection and never shag someone more than once. He wasn’t keen on giving anyone the wrong idea.

Funny how his second rule got tested the moment he rushed towards the lift after lunch the next day, Harry Styles blinking at him owlishly from beneath the rim of his ridiculous hat as if he’d just seen a ghost. His expression turned blank and guarded right after.

_I don’t even care. Not fucking worth it._

The insistent voice buzzed out into static because Harry’s three goddamn bottom buttons were holding on for dear life, a tangle of two silver necklaces glinting over his collarbones and falling in between his pecs that no longer carried the bruising imprint of Louis’ teeth. 

He wanted to bite him again, skim his teeth over Harry’s sensitive nipples and slide his hands into the soft curls brushing over the top of Harry’s broad shoulders, just knotting them around his fist and _tugging_ , to get rid of the angry kind of lust just seeing Harry made him feel.

_Get it together._

It wasn’t until someone brushed past him that he realised he’d been standing there like a knob, just staring. He hurried inside the lift and turned his back on Harry, backing up when more people flooded in to return from their lunch breaks.

He backed up to make more space, his heels bumping into someone’s shoes when the door dinged close.

“Sorry,” died on the tip of his tongue when familiar fingers reached out to steady him, a barely there touch to his hip, fingertips brushing over the jut of his hipbone and knuckles grazing his inner forearm, snapping back as quickly as they appeared as though Louis’ skin was made of flames. 

He jolted, throat bobbing, praying the lift would get up before he did something stupid and reckless, like catch Harry’s hand and slide it down to his crotch in front of all these people.

The lift opened on the next floor where the company cafeteria was, more people stepping in.

He was pushed further back, hot damp puff of breath stirring the hair at the back of his head.

Louis undid the first button on his shirt, his skin too hot around the collar as he watched the numbers of the floors go up.

“Excuse me,” a woman from behind him said as she squeezed past him, inadvertently pushing him into Harry. 

Louis could bloody _smell_ him, all spring meadow and vanilla that made Louis want to turn around and sniff Harry like a bloody dog. His chest was as firm and hard as Louis remembered and the cold press of Harry’s belt buckle digging into the curve of Louis’ ass was just about the last straw. 

He had to bite down on his tongue, pretend the elevator music was loud enough to cover up the choked little noise behind him, the way Harry’s breath stuttered as if he could feel it too. That electrical buzz every time they touched.

_Probably generated by all the mutual dislike._

“Can you, like,” a strangled voice muttered into his ear, all minty breath and deep rumbling noise that made Louis shift his weight to cover up the fact he’d got too lost in thoughts he shouldn’t be having, “budge over a bit?”

He could have, but he was in the mood to be difficult. 

“Does it look like there’s space?” he hissed back from the corner of his mouth, folding his hands in front of his crotch and willing his dick not to perk up as if he was a thirteen-year-old who had seen his first porno. 

He wasn’t the only one.

Harry’s breath turned a little shallower as someone jostled Louis again, bum pressing into Harry’s crotch.

For one vindictive moment, he allowed himself to push back.

_Try to forget me now._

A hand shot out to grip his wrist, fingers shaking. 

“Move,” Harry whispered urgently, almost angrily, as he let go. “Please.”

When more people stepped out, Louis no longer had an excuse to drive Harry bonkers. Pity, that. He liked the way Harry sounded when he begged.

No longer backed into a literal corner, Harry sighed a shuddering breath.

Neither of them spoke again. 

When the elevator stopped on the seventeenth floor, he could hear Harry follow him out, could practically touch the tension radiating off his body like a physical force field. It was making Louis’ skin itch.

He glanced over his shoulder for a moment too long, already regretting it. Harry’s cheeks were tinted pink, those big hands shielding his crotch with his hat.

He held Louis’ gaze and turned even redder. “You did that on purpose.”

A grin pushed its way onto Louis’ mouth, innocent as could be. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“What is wrong with you? What do you think you’re doing?” Harry’s mouth pulled taut. “I’m not a fucking game for you to play.”

Louis would never admit that the questions dropped down to the bottom of his stomach like a bag of stones, made his smile slump into a frown. He hadn’t really meant for it to go down like this. It was just… fun, right? Throwing Harry off balance, getting him to react. Anything but that cold-stone look on his face. Louis didn’t like to be ignored. “You were way more fun when I had you bare-arsed in your backseat.”

Harry glanced wildly around as though afraid of someone overhearing, and fuck, what if Harry was actually going to work here? Louis absolutely refused to spend hours locked in the same building, in the close vicinity of those stupid curls. He needed his sanity intact.

“I wasn’t the only one there,” Harry mumbled, low enough for Louis to have missed if he hadn’t been standing so close. “Can’t believe I ever thought you might… never mind.”

Before Louis could even gather his thoughts, Harry was stalking away.

****

“Why me?” Harry asked, waiting for Charles to put down his pen and look him in the eye, the thick-as-a-Bible contract sitting between them on the desk. Or, well, three contracts, actually. Publishing and management and recording, and Harry’s head was spinning, because even though Sophia’s father, who was an entertainment lawyer, had looked it over for him, Harry still understood it less then a Japanese instructional manual. That, or Louis.

He’d had to duck into the bathroom to splash his face with cold water in a poor attempt to wash away the memory of Louis’ bum rubbing over his crotch in the lift. He refused to let it distract him from what was really important.

Louis was such a prick.

_Priorities, Harry._

“Are you fishing for compliments?” Charles asked wryly.

“Maybe. Are you willing to indulge me?” He gave his best charming smile, the one that was just a little lopsided and dimpled his left cheek.

He couldn’t quite believe he’d done it. He’d signed the deal, quite possibly signed away his soul too, but Sophia’s dad had given him the green, with a few edits, and he was too fucking excited, looking at the man in front of him and wondering _why_.

Charles leaned back in his chair, relaxed and in control, and Harry couldn’t sit still with his heart hammering so loudly in his chest, jittery hands tucked under his thighs. 

“A lot of reasons, Harry.” The leather of Charles’ chair squeaked as he leaned forward again. “You’re not perfect, no. Not the best singer I’ve ever seen. Your guitar skills are average at best—”

Harry opened his mouth to question him when Charles arched his eyebrow, a silent command for him to wait.

“You have _potential_. Something… charm? Charisma and stage presence and authenticity. You write your own material and you don’t hold back when you’re performing. I have a feeling it doesn’t matter if you’re in a club with no more than fifty people or in an arena,” Charles said, his eyes never leaving Harry’s. “I won’t lie. It helps that you’re a looker too. You’re a… a diamond in the rough, if you will. It’s been a long time since I’ve been intrigued enough to want to polish someone.”

Harry could feel his cheek dimple, a chuckle bouncing off the tip of his tongue. “I really hope you didn’t mean that literally.”

“Cheeky.” Charles grinned, shaking his head. “Can I assume you’re not a ladies men then?”

“I’m gay,” Harry said, as easily as he breathed because he’d never found it shameful, had never wanted to hide. “Hope that’s not going to be a problem?”

“Whether you want anyone to know or not is entirely up to you. Just steer clear of the underage and prostitutes. Or more importantly, don’t get caught. It’s not good for the image. It’s a bit like… if you kill someone and destroy the evidence, it’s like it never happened.” He said it as if it was par for the course, emotionless, almost… _casual_. Like someone who knew how to hide the metaphorical body. Harry was strangely comforted to have him on his side.

“If you do, tell your publicist right away. Consider her your right arm. She should be notified of anything that might paint you in a bad light, _in advance_. If you fuck up, we need time to spin things in your favour, pay the media, all that jazz. Not that you’ll have to worry about that too much for a while. We’ve got a lot of recording sessions ahead of us before we can do any sort of promo to generate a buzz about you.”

_Recording sessions._

Fuck, he was doing this. It was real and happening and maybe he’d fail spectacularly and all his music would end up in the Walmart clearance bin for a few bucks, but at least he’d have known he’d _tried_. 

“Are you ready to meet some of the people on your team?” Charles asked.

“I’m ready.”

His PR manager Karen was a tall black woman in her mid-forties with heels that could double as a weapon and a professional, yet kind countenance. But it wasn’t her that had Harry’s feet close to tripping over air. Right next to her, shooting upright from where he’d been casually leaning against the desk was Louis. 

His startled eyes met Harry’s, throat bobbing around a dry swallow that Harry mirrored, a sense of foreboding a heavy weight pressing down on his stomach. 

He might have spoken too soon.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously: Louis hates Harry's hats, the walls of Harry's flat are thin and Tommo the Tease is real and alive and on Harry's new team.
> 
> Currently: Giselle is the best human and so are all of you who have left me comments! (this is like you're making love to my eyes... that's weird, I apologize)

_A new client. Just signed a contract. Very talented. Promising._

Louis snapped to attention the second his father said, “And this is Louis, our new intern. He’ll be helping out Karen and the rest of your team with some of the less crucial matters.”

Harry didn’t even look at him, gaze focused somewhere above Louis’ shoulder as though he was a ghost. He didn’t know why that bothered him, didn’t know why he was still staring at Harry so hard his eyes were starting to burn.

“I was thinking he could help you with social media, Harry,” Karen said. “We’re going to need all your social media accounts, even those you don’t use, and filter out all the things that could potentially harm your image.”

“Do you… do you need, like, my passwords and everything?”

Fuck, Harry was a child. He had no idea what machine he’d stumbled into. For some reason the idea of Harry being chewed up and spit out like so many before him troubled Louis. He didn’t give a damn anyway.

“I promise we’ll only be using it when necessary, when you’re too busy to post yourself. Mostly Twitter. Just very simple promotion posts, that’s all,” Dad said. “We want you to retain your own identity. Makes you more… real. Helps fans identify with you on a personal level, feel like they know you. We can set up some new accounts for you if you’d rather do that instead.”

“No, that’s okay.”

Louis’ eyes narrowed down on his father’s hand squeezing Harry’s shoulder, fingers twitching with the urge to push his father’s hand off.

He clenched his jaw and dropped his gaze to the floor, catching the tips of Harry’s scuffed up boots. Those things were practically falling apart.

They talked a bit more about the logistics of it all and building the PR buzz and what Harry should expect. Louis tuned most of it out. He was more than familiar with it now, having sat on the sidelines of enough one-hit wonders growing up to know the drill. He’d studied this stuff at the uni that he’d graduated from last year anyway and, to be honest, felt like he knew more than most of the lecturers. 

Harry looked a little lost, feet curved in, fidgeting with the rings on his fingers, and trying to hide it rather badly. Maybe it was just Louis though. Maybe he was the only one who bothered to look, too aware of how he shouldn’t keep fucking staring but unable to stop himself.

Harry didn’t look at him once.

****

Louis grabbed Harry’s wrist before he could step into the lift.

Harry’s eyes finally met his, brows pulled in by a frown as he glanced down at the point of contact.

Louis let go.

“What is it?” Harry asked, mouth pulling taut in annoyance when the door of the lift closed.

For a moment, Louis felt tongue-tied, exasperated and riled up because Harry just seemed to bring that out in him and Louis had never been one for self-control. 

Except he had to this time, because this wasn’t about Harry. Not really. 

“Karen sent me,” Louis bit out, cheeks cramping from the smile he was putting on. “Asked me to set up a meeting with you so we can go through your social media, since we’d rather you’re involved in the decisions as much as possible.”

The expression on Harry’s face suggested Louis had asked for his bloody nudes. Well, who knew? Maybe he had. 

“Like… with you?”

“What? Afraid I’m gonna be shocked by all the Instagram posts of Starbucks cups and moody feet shots?” God. Half of Harry’s stuff probably consisted of random artistic shit with some hipster filters put over it that Louis had always found pretentious.

“Hard to be afraid of someone who can’t even reach the top shelf.”

Louis felt the back of his neck flush, the smile never leaving his lips. He was aware he was just standing there, grinning like a maniac, but rather that than popping the fuck off in the most embarrassing way. This wasn’t the place for that.

“Please, the only reason you’re taller than me is because you’re wearing heels.” Louis scoffed and looked pointedly at the ragged shoes. “Which, by the way, they’re going to turn into flip-flops soon if you’re not too careful.”

Harry smiled a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, his smell invading Louis’ nostrils when he stepped in close, like a summer storm breaking out. Like ripe fruit. Louis resisted the urge to close his eyes and breathe in.

“So you bought that Rolex watch on an intern salary then?”

Louis clutched at his wrist, frowning. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Nothing,” Harry said, shaking his head as he pushed the lift button. “At least I buy all my things with the money I earned, not taking it off my parents.”

Louis swallowed hard, his insides knotted up. “You don’t know shit about me.”

Harry shrugged.

_Not worth it._

He didn’t say it out loud, but Louis knew he was thinking it anyway.

Before Louis could sling some insult back, the lift was coming back up again and Harry had turned his back on him, tossing over his shoulder, “I can come tomorrow around lunch if that’s all right.”

“Fine,” Louis said, tugging at the bottom of his tailored blazer. It felt ill fitting, all of a sudden.

He didn’t stay to watch Harry leave.

****

“You what!” Niall almost toppled off the sofa, laughing in uncontrollable bursts that made Harry throw a pillow at his head.

Maybe Harry would find another new flatmate to replace Niall too.

“Who is Lewis? And why is working with him such an issue?”

“Louis,” Harry corrected Ella automatically, cheeks burning when it made Niall laugh so hard he started to cough. 

“We, um… kind of slept together.”

“Oh,” Ella said, clearly confused. “What’s up with the Chucklehead over here then. I don’t see how it’s funny.”

“Harry is obsessed with him,” Niall managed, wheezing. “Got a near coronary when he had to drive over to return his bloody coat. Tell her, Harry.”

“I hate you,” Harry muttered and pinched Niall’s thigh. “And I’m not obsessed.”

“This has got to be fate,” Niall said, finally somewhat settling down, throwing his feet into Harry’s lap as though he hadn’t just gravely insulted him by unfairly calling him obsessed. “I mean, bro, what are the bloody chances?”

“Wait,” Ella said, dark eyebrows raised. “Is it the same Louis that you’ve been wanking over?”

“Yes!” Niall said, finger pointing at Ella with a wink. 

Harry was surrounded by enemies.

“I miss Liam.”

Ella reached over from her armchair to gently tug at his curls. “I’m sorry, muffin. Do you want some cubed fruit?”

Okay, maybe Ella was all right. “Could you?”

“Can I have some too?” Niall asked.

“No.” 

She got up to stretch, her top riding up to reveal her pierced belly button. Funny how it did nothing for Harry. 

Niall, on the other hand— “You’re drooling,” Harry not so subtly whispered. 

Niall turned bright red. “Shut up.”

Oh, how the tables had turned.

****

The plan had been to carefully sift through all his accounts to weed out anything embarrassing, and Harry had been so prepared-- had even borrowed Niall’s laptop with a suspiciously clean search history-- to make this happen.

Alas, he’d fallen asleep about ten minutes later and hadn’t woken up until the sun was already starting to climb out from behind the horizon, one of his limp hands haphazardly thrown over the still open laptop and drool sticky on his chin. Needless to say, Harry had just closed the laptop and rolled over on his side with a groan, hoping to catch at least one more hour of sleep.

Dozing off in a half-sitting, half-slumped position was not something Harry would recommend.

He dragged his feet into the Front Line Management building, praying to hell and back that Louis wasn’t about to unearth something too humiliating. 

Harry’s neck hurt every time he turned his head, back twinging with every step. He was not in the mood for twattish behaviour today.

When he made it to the seventeenth floor, Louis was already waiting for him in the reception lobby.

The sides of his hair were slicked back, white button-up tucked into grey fitted slacks that Harry most definitely shouldn’t be inspecting so closely. 

He was just… admiring the quality stitching.

“Shall we?” Louis asked in the lieu of a greeting and walked right past Harry, all expensive spicy cologne and mocking curved eyebrows and sinister cheekbones.

As Harry followed him over to his desk, he tried to keep his eyes above the waistline. 

He succeeded. Mostly.

Louis sat down and kicked an empty spinning chair over to Harry. It bumped into his knees.

“Good morning to you, too,” Harry said sourly and sat down, his lower back more than grateful for it. The bakery had been chock full since the morning. He’d barely even had time to go on a piss break, never mind sit for more than five minutes.

“All right, let’s get to it.”

Louis’ back was ramrod straight, his lips a harsh line that silently shaped words Harry couldn’t make out as he read something off his phone then typed something out on a keyboard. When he noticed Harry had been staring, he straightened up even more, frowning.

His fingers shook a little as he hovered over the keyboard and Harry averted his eyes to look at his lap instead, all too aware of the very pointed distance between their chairs.

The silence between them was awkward and stifling and Harry wanted to shed it like a sweaty shirt but all he could do was sit there and watch Louis fumble around through what looked like a database, looking slightly like he was on the verge of panic and trying his best not to let it show.

It gave Harry a vicious kind of satisfaction, his stomach churning with guilt right away. He really didn’t like who was turning into whenever Louis was within two feet of him. It made him want to push, push, push until they were both toeing the edge.

And what then?

“This is taking ages,” Harry mumbled to distract himself, looking ahead because turning to catch Louis’ expression wasn’t worth the pain in his neck and the way Louis’ thighs strained against his slacks was not something Harry needed to be focusing on right now. 

The discomfort from his back was making Harry extra irritable.

Not the kind of pain he liked.

Louis made some weird kind of strangled noise, as though he’d had to choke down whatever retort he was ready to dish right back. He was practically vibrating with it. 

The tension of it hooked into Harry’s skin and refused to let go.

He saw Louis slump a little from the corner of his eye and set the phone down, relieved.

“Type in the password for your Twitter, please. Then the rest if you have them.” 

Louis’ ‘please’ sounded a lot like ‘fuck you’.

Louis scooted back on the chair to give Harry space. He was still close, too close, their knees bumping for a second before Harry jerked away and inhaled sharply through his nose.

The cursor on the screen blinked over and over again. Harry read over the chart listing any and all social media imaginable, a free field next to each waiting for him to fill it out.

His knee wouldn’t stop tingling.

Today was going to be a long, long day.

****

They’d been going through Harry’s Instagram for only five minutes but Louis already felt like he was about to jump out of his skin. He’d rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, flushed from the heat of the midday sun blasting in past the ceiling-high windows and Harry’s aggravating proximity.

Harry’s eyes flickered down to Louis’ bare wrists, which he defensively tucked away out of sight, because who the fuck was Harry to judge him?

And could someone turn the bloody AC up?

The picture on the screen was a shot of a massive watermelon with Harry’s foot next to it, with a smirking emoji for a caption. Louis swallowed down his snort, expecting Harry to make some kind of commentary. 

Instead he just clicked away to the next one, cheeks pink.

“You’re not that big.”

Louis had always had a bad impulse control.

“Bigger than you.”

How _dare_ he. Everyone knew it was the girth that counted more anyway. “Well, I’m _thicker_ , so… fuck off.”

“You are not th—”

“Want to bet on it?”

Harry paused, blinking at the screen.

Not for the first time in his life, Louis wished he could take his words back, use his brain before half-arsed thoughts came flying out of his mouth. Too late for that now.

“Are you asking me to whip out my cock right here to prove you wrong or…”

Louis hadn’t had enough tea today to deal with this. “Please. Seen that, done that. Not impressed.”

The chair squeaked as Harry leaned in close, his knee pressing into Louis’ thigh, minty breath tickling the side of Louis’ jaw as Harry whispered, “That’s not how I remember it.”

Louis’ heart thudded in his chest, pulsing right under his skin and in his ears and other places it had no business pulsing right now. Harry was nothing but another number on his list, obsolete and forgettable.

“I’ve had better,” he lied through his teeth, wished he could just grip the front of Harry’s half-undone shirt and push him off, push him into the lift and out of his life for good.

Careful not to be overheard, Louis whispered, “Didn’t even come untouched.”

Harry coughed, probably choking on the words he was about to say, cheeks glaringly red. 

“You liked it,” Harry said quietly, more to himself than to Louis, shoulders curved in as he turned away, blocking Louis out. He sounded a little petulant, maybe a little hurt.

Louis had always known the right words to make it sting. It shouldn’t be making him feel like he wanted to take it back, to say _sorry_. Apologies meant admitting weakness, making a mistake. He’d be damned if he let Harry see any of that, not if he could help it. It was bad enough he’d almost embarrassed himself when the database wouldn’t let him in after he’d typed in the wrong password.

“Yes, Harry, you’re right. You and your almighty dick have changed my life forever,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm, palms sweating. “Can we get back to it now? I do have plans outside of work, you know.”

“You’re the one who started it.”

“And now I’m ending it.” He nudged Harry’s hand on the mouse. The second their skin touched, a jolt of static electricity kicked him and he jerked his hand back, voice tight as he added, “Click away.”

Harry clutched the mouse tight, brows so furrowed he might as well have grown a unibrow. He didn’t say anything for long, excruciating minutes after that.

Louis had been right. Harry’s social media was nothing but hipster filters, tweets that made no sense and too many pictures of bananas and toilet signs and bright-eyed baby Harry photos that Louis bitterly admitted were far less embarrassing than his own.

“Why should I trust you?” Harry said suddenly, pausing. “To know which things to delete and which ones to leave? You’re just an intern. And you’re not exactly--”

“I’m not what?” Louis lifted his chin, refusing to let Harry see how bloody terrified he was, how unsure he’d fuck this up. How much it _mattered_ to him. “You think that because we shagged I’m going to say ‘fuck you’ and ‘fuck my job’ just to be that petty? Is that what you think?”

Harry blanched.

It was written all over his face that Louis had hit the nail on its head.

“You know what?” He stood up, just… he had to get the fuck away from Harry before he did something he’d regret. Again. “I’ll be back in a second.”

“I wasn’t—”

Louis didn’t stay long enough to hear Harry’s half-arsed excuses.

He didn’t know Louis at all.

****

Harry was an asshole.

He kind of wanted to crawl underneath the table and pretend he was nothing but a dust particle stomped into the carpet. 

Spurred on by his own guilt and the image of a very disappointed mum flashing on a loop in his brain, he got off his seat and trudged over towards the small room in the corner of the open office space where he’d glimpsed Louis going.

He’d only just spotted Louis’ hunched shoulders when another voice from the inside stopped Harry in his tracks.

“I’ll have Andrew do a secondary search after you’re done anyway. Make sure you haven’t misjudged anything,” Charles said quietly, as thought he didn’t want to be overheard. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Harry expected Louis to snap back, not that tense, loaded silence.

“And unroll your cuffs, please. How many times do I have to tell you that it looks sloppy?”

That touch of familiarity gave Harry pause. That wasn’t how a boss spoke to their subordinate, Harry was fairly sure of that, flushing with the knowledge of it.

He stirred into motion, putting distance between him and the strange, fucked up situation going on inside of the kitchenette. The last thing he wanted was to be caught right in the middle, to have people realize he’d been standing there without any purpose for too long, _eavesdropping._

Was Louis, like… fucking his boss? 

Should Harry pretend he didn’t know?

He was a horrible liar.

Shit.

He started to fidget with his phone the second Louis returned, a steaming cup in his hands and jaw set so tight the muscle in his cheek kept twitching.

Was that how Louis had got this job in the first place? A sugar daddy? 

If Harry wasn’t in such shock, he’d have laughed, torn between feeling pity and sinking disappointment that this was the kind of person Louis really was. That he’d rather take abuse from some older dude or take the money off his parents than earn his cash the hard way. Harry did remember the car Louis had almost driven off the cliff was a gift from Louis’ father because Louis wouldn’t stop stressing about it for half the drive.

“You don’t have to have your knickers in a twist over this, you know,” Louis said tightly, the chair creaking under his weight as he shifted and pulled Harry out of his increasingly confused thoughts. “As much as you being such a cryptic hipster is a crime in itself, I _did_ study for this. I’d prefer it if you treated me like you’ve never met me. Now, grab that mouse and keep clicking.”

Harry would have felt sympathy if it hadn’t been for the shooting pain in his back from sleeping badly and then slaving away at the bakery since 6-bloody-am for minimal wage.

When Harry wheeled in a bit closer to the desk, Louis smelled like fury and spice and the tea he was sipping from and Harry had to grit his teeth because his body reacted like clockwork, his jeans too tight.

He was a horrible fucking person. Worse than Louis, by far.

“Can you stop scoffing?” Harry asked after the sixth time Louis made the noise.

Only Harry’s mum was allowed to make fun of his tweets.

“Sure.”

It took Louis barely a minute to scoff again. And even though Harry knew it was probably more about the conversation that had gone on in the kitchen than Harry himself, he let Louis rile him up anyway.

This couldn’t be over soon enough.

****

“We’re going clubbing!” Louis yelled into the receiver the second Zayn picked up.

“No.”

Louis star-fished over the top of his bed, naked and determined to change Zayn’s mind. “Zayn—”

“Bro,” Zayn interrupted, on the verge of whining. It was disgraceful. “I’m in my pajamas.”

“So? Take them off. Put some wingman clothes on. I need a fuck.”

“Can’t you just… booty-call one of your many, many conquests?” 

It was time for emotional blackmail. Louis didn’t like to take such drastic measures, but desperate times and all that. He needed to loosen up, shuck off the god-awful day and just… not think. 

“You know I don’t do anyone twice. Do you really want me to go clubbing alone? What if someone slips me something? Or you won’t be there to use your higher power to scope out whether the dude’s a dick? Or—”

“Fine, _Christ_. All right.” Zayn sighed.

Louis punched a pillow in victory as silently as he could, because the second Zayn caught a wind of deceit Louis was a lone wolf. The last thing he wanted was to be alone right now. 

That rarely ever ended well.

“I love you.”

“Shut up,” Zayn said and hung up.

Never mind that. Louis was certain tonight was going to solve all his problems.

****

Louis was about two drinks away from having the floor spinning under his feet. Zayn’s hand was a steady pressure around his elbow as he steered them back to their table.

“No more Cosmos,” Zayn said, weary and absolutely no fun at all.

“Yes, more pink umbrella drinks. I like them.”

“And I like you not chucking up on my shoes.”

Louis threw his hand up in a very clear ‘pfft’ gesture, coincidentally shaking off Zayn’s grasp.

“I’m gonna pull then.”

“Louis, you’re too drunk for that—”

“I’m just gonna _dance_ then, bloody hell. Chill, Zaynie.” He squished Zayn’s cheeks and wiggled. Zayn didn’t look amused. He hadn’t even done his hair, which was good for Louis because Zayn with his hair done was like, a hundred out of ten on the scale of being attractive and that put a wrench in the whole ‘Louis needs to get laid’ thing. Louis loved to be the one in the centre of attention. Especially when there were things lurking in the back of his mind that were better ignored.

No better way to deal with issues than to pretend there weren’t any.

“Only dancing.” Zayn raised his eyebrows to emphasise his point.

Louis reached out to pet Zayn’s brows, hips already swaying to the beat. “Scout’s honour.”

He let the crowd swallow him and closed his eyes, felt the drums thunder from his chest to the soles of his feet, the heat of bodies pressed to his from every side making him hot and eager and feeling like he could hide in the crowd and never, ever be found.

Hands clasped around his hips, fingertips pressing into hipbones and warm breath hitting the nape of his neck.

He didn’t open his eyes, didn’t bother to turn around, knew that the bouncers never let anyone unattractive inside and Louis just _needed_ this. Needed to stop thinking about the _why should I trust you? and you can’t be trusted, all you’ve ever done is fuck up._

Lips pressed to his ear, thumb slipping past the waistband of Louis’ jeans. “What’s your name?” 

“Jake,” Louis said. He didn’t want to be Louis right now. 

The guy was half hard against him, pressed so tight to Louis’ back his heat was sinking into Louis’ flesh, sweat slinking down his spine, his jeans getting tighter and tighter with every push of his hips, every rub of fingertips over his bare skin.

“I’m Oliver.”

Louis nodded, forgetting already. He didn’t want a name, didn’t care past the flesh on flesh and hot hands burning a path under his T-shirt, slipping lower and lower until a hand curved over Louis through his jeans.

“Toilets?” 

Louis nodded, licked over the bittersweet taste of alcohol still lingering on his lips and held the arm around his waist as they staggered towards the nearest bathroom.

He was burning up and itching, pushing the bloke into one of the stalls until his shoulder blades hit the wall, Louis’ teeth pressed into his neck, sucking and licking and biting, hands working his belt free and slipping inside.

_You’re not better than me._

“Yeah, fuck.”

Louis didn’t know his name, didn’t even register the colour of his eyes, every noise he made nothing but a stirring of air that Louis didn’t care to remember. His hands were too small as he undid Louis’ jeans, his lips too thin as he tried to kiss Louis, got his cheek instead when Louis tilted his head to the side.

_This is what I’m good at, what I’m..._

“Get on your knees,” Louis said, pushed at the bloke’s shoulders until his knees hit the floor and his breath was stirring the trail of hair disappearing inside Louis’ undone jeans.

His head hit the wall, fingers sliding into hair that wasn’t soft enough, wasn’t long enough to twist around his eager fingers.

“Come on, take me deeper.” He pushed his hips off the wall, breath stuttering in his chest, right around the vague hollow feeling stretching somewhere behind his ribs.

_Stop thinking._

So he did, shut off his thoughts the best he could and moved his hips to the beat, because this was enough and all he needed was a warm, wet mouth that moved over him just _so._

“Yeah, fuck, Harry, that’s—”

And then air was hitting his spit-slick flesh, too chilly where the hot mouth had been seconds ago and Louis’ words caught up to him along with it, eyes snapping open.

“Harry? Really? My name’s fucking Oliver, dude.”

Louis blinked, mouth open on an empty excuse, hands shaking.

The door swung open and clicked closed again and Louis was alone, drunk and flagging down as though someone had dumped a bucket of cold water over his head.

_Why can’t I let it fucking go?_

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why is liking this bloody boyband an emotional equivalent to dipping your face into a pool of lava? Stay tuned and don't find out.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously: Harry's foot is as big as a watermelon, he thinks Louis' daddy is his actual sugar daddy and Louis' brain connects orgasms with Harry.
> 
> My beta Giselle is a true hero.

Louis hadn’t seen Harry in over a week, which… _good riddance_. Harry’s voice was too deep and his hands obscenely big and he couldn’t even button up his shirts properly and who even wanted to see Harry’s stupid, severely unimpressive bare chest, honestly. Maybe Louis would buy him a turtleneck, do the entire world a favour.

He should have known his lucky streak would have to come to an end eventually. He’d just never expected cupcakes would be involved.

“Um,” was all his brain managed to come up with when he slipped into Karen’s office, a cupcake with pink frosting halfway up to her mouth. 

Harry’s dimple flattened out the second he spotted Louis.

The feeling was mutual.

Though unaware of it, Harry had ruined Louis’ sex life. And Louis knew it had to have been temporary, but that didn’t mean his own hand was getting any more fun. This was clearly Harry’s fault and nobody else’s.

“Sorry, am I interrupting?” Louis asked, pointedly avoiding looking at Harry, even though his eyes were straining with the effort. “I can come back later.”

“No, it’s fine,” Karen said, taking a bite out of the cupcake with a disturbingly orgasmic expression. “Harry brought these. Come have some.”

What had Louis ever done to deserve this? Anyone who knew him was also aware Louis had a sweet tooth. Sometimes he’d sneak out of his bed at 3am to ravage the freezer for chocolate chip ice-cream with mint or pillage the cookie jar their cook usually hid from him in increasingly inventive places. Sometimes he’d have to climb up on the counter to get it, but… nobody needed to know that.

“He baked them, too. Didn’t you, Harry?”

Harry cleared his throat, shrugging and blushing light pink. His innocent act wasn’t fooling Louis one bit.

Fuck, those cupcakes looked _good._

“I’m not really hungry,” Louis said, right as his stomach decided to betray him and growl so loudly his hand flew to cover it up on instinct.

Harry snorted in a rather unattractive way and Karen just lifted her eyebrow. “Watching your figure, love?”

“Kind of,” he lied, even though he’d gone through a period of time when he’d controlled his weight almost obsessively, had been told ‘you’ve got hips like a girl’ or ‘getting a bit of a tummy there, aren’t you, Tommo?’. The boys at the boarding school had loved to pinch his hips. That was, until Louis had tracked down one of their bitter ex-girlfriends and plastered the very unimpressive nudes all over the dorms, deciding that Belgian chocolate was more important than what some immature wankers thought. “I’m not really a cupcake kind of guy.”

Harry frowned as though Louis had just personally offended him, which… well, yes. He kind of had. That vague sense of nagging guilt was harder to shake than it should have been.

“Suit yourself,” Karen said, either completely oblivious to the rapidly increasing tension in the room, or choosing to ignore it. “More for me.”

“I brought you the… stuff,” Louis remembered himself, lifted the stack of papers in his hand. He’d never really wanted to spend his best years stuck in an office, sitting behind a desk, but as his mother had once told him, _we can’t always get what we want_. “Sorry it took me a bit longer.”

“It’s fine. I won’t need it until tomorrow anyway. Thank you.”

He was turning around on his heel when he heard Harry say, “I’m going to get some tea. Do you want me to bring you some?”

“Could you bring me a cup of coffee?” Karen asked. 

“Of course.”

Louis barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he walked out of Karen’s office.

“God, you’re a darling. Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Louis just soundlessly mouthed ‘no problem’, grimacing because his back was to Harry anyway, so he could be as childish as he wanted to.

He was well on his way to his desk when Harry’s voice made him falter in his step. “You can take some to Charles, you know.”

Louis spun around, blinking stupidly. “What?”

Harry’s lips twisted around a bitter kind of smile as he regarded Louis silently. 

“Cupcakes,” Harry said as though Louis was too slow. “Bring some to your… to Charles. I’m sure he’d appreciate it.”

_To your…_

Fuck, like… of course Harry would have found out eventually. 

It made Louis’ cheeks flush with embarrassment, because even though he was pretty sure he hadn’t been doing as badly as everyone had expected him to, this would always get flung back in his face and it wasn’t bloody fair. It made him feel incompetent, like a child who couldn’t make a step without someone holding his hand.

“Do you know what, Harry? Why don’t you stuff your cupcakes somewhere the sun doesn’t shine?” 

He should have felt satisfied and vindicated, but instead felt as though he’d swallowed a handful of rocks that wouldn’t stop sitting at the bottom of his stomach.

Harry had caught him off guard, something that kept happening time and time again and Louis just… he needed it to stop. Needed to stop letting Harry needle so deep under his skin.

****

That wasn’t how Harry had meant it.

He stood there like an idiot, nobody really paying him much attention, but even if they had, Harry wouldn’t have noticed, too busy watching Louis walk briskly back to his desk, shoulders drawn tight as though he was trying to tune the entire world out.

Harry had just wanted to _know_ , just make sure he hadn’t misread the situation. 

The way Louis’ face had dropped before he’d turned redder and redder as he’d realised Harry’s implications told Harry he hadn’t misread it at all.

_You don’t know anything. You don’t know why he does it. Maybe he’s got a whole polyamoric thing going on that makes him happy._

Louis’ face was more often than not expressive, easy to read, and yet… Harry didn’t understand Louis at all. He wasn’t, like, judging Louis. He tried not to, at least.

After he returned to Karen’s office, he couldn’t stop replaying it over and over again in his head anyway, only half-listening to Karen as she explained the way they wanted to start building his public persona.

She must have noticed he’d checked out because she stopped talking and tilted her head. “I’m boring you, aren’t I?”

Harry straightened up in his seat, shaking his head so hard his hat almost toppled off. “No! No, you’re not, you’re… I’m so very interested, I promise—”

Her stern expression cracked and she was grinning at him now, clearly enjoying his distress. “It’s fine. I’ve been talking your ear off for far too long now. I know the business side can be rather dreary for you artistic types.”

“No, that’s not… I really want to know all this. I _need_ to, if I want to be in control, which I _do_. Just…” He smiled sheepishly. “My mind’s a bit all over the place right now. I’m sorry.”

“Okay.” She clacked her manicured nails against the desk. “What if I told you there’s a party on Saturday? Which you should come to, to mingle and build relevant business contacts. Something you might not know, schmoozing is more important than one might think.”

“I’m good at that,” he said, putting his heart into it to make up for not listening earlier. “I’ll schmooze.”

“Good.” She clapped her hands. “I’ll e-mail you the details, okay?”

He smiled, thinking _fuck, this is actually really real._

****

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” Harry asked, sprawled over Niall’s legs to trap him in place on Niall’s bed. The sheets were in a rather questionable state but Harry was too nervous to care, excited and panicking just a little because he would know hardly anyone there and Niall had always been better at breaking the ice.

“Would if I could.” Niall said, wriggling under him. “Already promised Jay we’d hit the pub. The poor lad’s got a broken heart. Can’t ditch him.”

Harry wrapped his arms around Niall’s legs and sighed. “I don’t want to do it without you.”

“Come on, now. It’s just one party. Sneak me some of those little finger foods, will ya? And text me frequently to tell me how it goes. I’m counting on you.”

Harry snorted and hugged Niall tight enough to prompt an unmanly squeak. “You’re coming with me to record stuff next week. Having you as my guitar player was one of my conditions, you know.”

“Harry—”

“I’m not doing this without you,” Harry said quietly, stupidly sentimental, because everything was changing so quickly and he felt as if he’d been swept up by a hurricane and he just needed someone to keep his feet on the ground.

“I’m sure they’d have sorted you with someone better than me.”

“There’s only one Niall Horan in the world,” Harry argued, sitting up so he could look down into Niall’s serene face. Niall would have been happy for Harry either way, completely selflessly and with unwavering enthusiasm and Harry loved him so fucking much. “I’m not going to _change_ , I’m not going to just leave you and fuck off and forget everything, forget _you_ , I’m not—”

“Harry,” Niall said calmly, reaching out for him until Harry gave in and cuddled into Niall’s chest. He smelled like laundry powder and something familiarly woodsy. Harry closed his eyes and breathed him in. “I know you wouldn’t. You’re not that kind of person. You’re made for this, okay? I know you’d never let this change you. Besides, we wouldn’t let you. First sign of any diva behaviour and I’ll have you on toilet scrubbing duty in a heartbeat, screw your head on straight and narrow. Or, well, as straight as you can be anyway.”

Harry laughed, a bit wetly, not even embarrassed about his outburst. Niall had seen much worse anyway. He’d seen the worst and the best of Harry and he was still here. “We are for life, you and Liam and I. Three musketeers.”

“Of course. Best mates for life, us three.” Niall kissed the top of Harry’s head then ruffled his hair. “Now get your arse off me and go get dressed. My legs are numb.”

Harry sat up, eyes wide. “Oh no. Niall!”

“What?”

“What am I going to wear?”

“Oh, of fuck’s sake.”

****

Harry felt decidedly underdressed. Or better said, mis-dressed. A very glaring, sore thumb dressed in a Marc Jacobs shirt with flamingos amidst a sea of grays and blacks.

Well. 

Shit.

_‘Just put on something posh, but something you’re comfortable in’_ , Karen had texted him.

This was Harry’s only expensive shirt. Niall’s ex who had worked in the fashion industry had, um… appropriated it for Harry. It had seemed like his best option.

Fingers touched his elbow, made him jump and spin in place with a staggering lack of grace.

“I’m glad you came,” Karen said, a simple jewel green silk dress looking beautiful on her dark skin. “Love the shirt.”

“Are you making fun of me?” He tried not to pout.

“No, actually. It’s a very daring choice. You certainly won’t fade into background, which is, you know, good. From a PR perspective. Nobody has ever made it big by being boring.”

“Well, that’s one thing I am most certainly not.” He accepted the glass she pushed into his hand. 

Karen leaned in close and smiled. “Relax. Nobody here is going to bite you, I promise. Now, let’s go mingle. Charm the pants off everyone like I’m sure you can.”

Harry took a sip of the champagne, sweet and fizzy and warm on the back of his tongue. 

“Ed is here too. Ed Sheeran, I mean. A very nice guy. I’m sure you two could find things in common.”

Harry just nodded, trying really hard not to look like a damn impostor. “I probably shouldn’t mention that I have both his albums, right?”

She just laughed and patted him on the shoulder, saying, “Come on then, I’ll introduce you around.”

He followed behind Karen like a little duckling, cradling the champagne flute to his chest, desperately wishing Niall was here with him to stop him from looking so out of place.

_Come on, just, pull it together, you’ve got charm, bags of it. They’re all just people._

He pulled in a steady breath and let it out, relaxing, because yes. They were all just people and Harry had never been one to go starstruck. He wasn’t about to start now.

_You deserve to be here too._

The voice sounded suspiciously like his mum and his mum was always right, so.

He could do this.

He spent the next forty minutes talking to anyone and everyone and he was having fun, actually, because yeah, there had been a few snotty people who had side-eyed his choice of clothing and seemingly disapproved, but the rest of the party had been rather nice. Not as nice as sharing a joint on the fire escape with Niall and Liam or getting a pint in a pub down the block, but… not as bad as Harry had expected. A bit stuffy, maybe.

He really enjoyed the Dvořák piece being played live by the pianist though. He’d always had a soft spot for the classics.

He was just admiring the pianist’s fingers gliding across the keys, baffled that no one else seemed to be paying attention to it at all, as though it was nothing but background noise, when someone stopped to stand next to him.

“Amazing, innit?”

“Yeah, makes me wish I could play a piano.”

“Yeah, I’ve tried it myself before, but… guitar is more my speed.”

Harry turned to face the stranger and was met with a shock of ginger hair and kind brown eyes. Oh.

“Hi, I’m Ed.”

“Yeah, um… I know. I mean, I’m Harry.”

Ed chuckled and leaned in close to whisper to Harry, “Record company parties are usually a right bore.”

Harry’s lips twitched in amusement. “Why are you here then?”

“Free food and booze, mostly. I’ll never say no to that.”

Harry laughed then, an embarrassing bark of a sound that Ed didn’t seem to mind at all because he was laughing along. He was also wearing a green hoodie. 

Harry liked him already.

“You must get this a lot, but… your music made me want to sing too. Was probably the first cover I ever recorded.”

“Really?” Ed said, and he sounded so genuinely touched that Harry immediately felt better. Felt like he could keep himself grounded too and never lose perspective, if he ever made it even half as big. “Which song?”

“Kiss me.” Harry smiled down into his champagne, swirled it around the glass. “Love all your lyrics, if I’m honest. I mean, I’m already being embarrassing so I might as well do it properly.”

“Nah, you’re good. Not going to say no to a compliment, am I?” Ed said, teasing and incredibly nice. “You a budding musician then?” 

When Harry nodded, Ed threw his arm around Harry’s shoulders as though they’d been mates for years and steered him away. “I’ve hid the best of hors d’oeuvres in the kitchen cabinet. Come on, I’ll share.”

Niall was going to shit his pants.

****

Harry hadn’t expected spending the night trying to sneak out food out of the kitchen and watching cat videos on YouTube with Ed Sheeran, but that’s what he was doing and he didn’t regret a thing.

“Come on then, get us those tiny ones with shrimp, I believe in you, mate,” Ed had said, lounging on the bench in the back garden. 

And so Harry had said yes, because he liked Ed and he liked shrimp and he was a little tipsy too.

He’d managed to sneak in past the hustling waiters, none of whom paid him too much attention. He’d half expected someone to scold him but they were too busy catering and Harry knew exactly what that was like, so he tried his best to keep out of their way.

He was just putting the last shrimp bite on a plate, ready to sneak out with it when someone crashed into his back. The plate clattered on the counter as he flailed and caught himself on the edge, his hips pressed painfully into the counter.

“Shit, sorry,” warm breath shivered over Harry’s nape, firm hands holding onto his waist. “Sorry, I tripped.”

“’S fine.” And Harry knew that voice, should have been spinning around on his heel and pushing Louis off because his hands were burning Harry through his shirt and Louis was too bloody close, the shift of his palms sliding the silky fabric over Harry’s sensitive ribs. 

“You can get off now,” Harry said tightly, biting down hard on his lip as he gripped the counter, knuckles turning white.

“Can I?”

Harry must have imagined the way Louis’ hands lingered, the way his palms dragged down Harry’s sides before the weight of Louis finally lifted off his back.

He felt off balance, suddenly, as though his centre of gravity had permanently shifted.

He busied himself righting a couple of shrimp bites back on the plate, refusing to face Louis right now. He needed to put himself together.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” Harry said, could feel Louis hovering behind him, the tension in the empty space between them like a physical presence.

“I do work at the company and this is a company shindig, so, you know. Besides, free drinks.”

Whereas Ed’s comment had made Harry laugh, Louis’, for some reason, did nothing but prickle at his skin, the sound of it irritating. “Not like you can’t afford to buy your own, is it?”

_All you have to do is get down on your knees and ask your sugar daddy all nice-like._

He felt the urge to apologise right as he thought it, feeling a little sick with all the champagne lurching around his stomach. He wasn’t bloody _jealous_.

“Not as satisfying.”

Harry finally turned around, only to have Louis’ eyes snap back up from where he’d clearly been eyeing Harry’s _assets_. 

“Why are you still here?” Harry asked, feet carrying him closer, so close the tips of his shoes would have bumped Louis’ if he took another step, breathing hard because everything about Louis just rubbed him the wrong way.

“Land of freedom, isn’t it? I do as I please.” Louis tilted his head to the side, eyes a little glassy, as though he’d had one too many already. God knew Harry had. He couldn’t stop looking at Louis’ mouth. “What in the bloody hell are you _wearing_?”

Harry flushed, and it was just his luck that he could be impervious to anyone’s scathing comments but Louis’. _Stop letting him in._

“Marc Jacobs, if you must know.” He sounded too defensive, too on edge and he chided himself for it immediately because the last thing he wanted was for Louis to know that what he thought mattered to Harry at all. It didn’t. It shouldn’t. “It was a gift from a friend.”

_You don’t need to explain yourself to him. He’s not better than you._

“And yet you get on my back about my watch. A bit hypocritical, if you ask me.” The mocking eyebrow raise only added insult to injury. In a way, Louis was right.

That didn’t mean Harry would be a grown up about this.

“Well, I didn’t. Ask you. And it’s not like this shirt’s worth 50k.”

Louis’ eyebrows flew up, mouth parted in a delighted ‘oh’. “The kitten’s got claws.”

“Don’t call me that.” He resisted the urge to fiddle with his hair, to see if any stray strands were sticking out of his makeshift bun. Being called a kitten shouldn’t have unsettled him like this, with skin too hot and a bolt of pleasure shooting down his spine and settling in his belly, his jeans bordering on unacceptably tight.

He realised his mistake the second Louis grinned, all sharp teeth and _watch me call you kitten for the rest of our mutually aggravating acquaintance._

“So, kitten,” Louis goaded, chin jutted out as he ran his fingertips over the shell of Harry’s ear with an unspoken _what are you going to do about it?_ , “having fun so far?”

Harry was rooted to the spot, his heartbeat picking up. He could feel his blood pounding in his earlobe, right where Louis had touched his skin. “You’re drunk.”

“Well on my way there,” Louis agreed, licking over his lips.

Harry tracked the movement, angry at himself and at Louis and at his dick for responding to Louis like it was muscle memory. “Won’t your sugar daddy be disappointed? Don’t you have to, like, act all proper to not embarrass him?”

Louis grimaced as though he’d swallowed something particularly sour. He didn’t even love the guy, clearly. Harry wondered if Louis had ever really loved anything but himself. 

“Don’t call him that, that’s just… fucking wrong.”

Harry shrugged, uneasy, looking away from the lightest smattering of freckles on the bridge of Louis’ nose.

“Fuck you, Harry,” Louis said, quiet and intent, his gaze never leaving Harry’s face. “Get off your high horse and stop… just stop acting like everything I do is so bloody vile. Like you wouldn’t take the same bloody chance if you could. You think you’re so much better than me, but you’re,” Louis swallowed, blinked, eyebrows furrowing even more, “you’re nothing but another cog in the machine. You’re not special or unique, you’re just… another disposable way to make the company more money. I’ve seen the likes of you come and go so many times I don’t even remember their faces anymore.”

The words hit Harry in the solar plexus like a sledgehammer and he almost staggered back, felt his eyes burn as he held Louis’ sharp, cold gaze, sneering lips parting to add, “You’re not any different,” as though he’d heard and said this all before a hundred times.

“Take that back,” Harry whispered, hoarse as he closed the distance between them, Louis’ breath tickling his chin. He knew he wasn’t thinking clearly, that he should have been walking away instead of standing here with nothing but an inch of space between their bodies and the urge to make Louis see him.

_Why do you care? Why do you even bloody care?_

“Make me,” Louis hissed, harsh fingers fisted in the front of Harry’s shirt.

He didn’t know who moved first, could barely register the sound of a glass shattering by their feet as he pushed Louis up against a counter, hot open mouths meeting desperately. Harry followed the pull in his stomach, the one that had been tugging him into Louis’ orbit ever since he’d seen him again and their chests collided, hips pressed together and _movingmovingmoving_.

“Not,” Louis breathed, hand sliding into the open V of Harry’s shirt and smoothing over his bare chest, thumbnail scraping over Harry’s nipple, “here.”

Their mouths met again, hungrier, sliding wetly, teeth catching on too sensitive lips as though the moment of separation had only made the craving worse.

Harry’s feet were moving and he didn’t know where as he followed Louis’ lead blindly, undoing the buttons of Louis’ blazer with one hand, the other too busy cupping the back of Louis’ head to hold him in place.

They staggered over a doorstep and the air smelled stale as they were plunged into the darkness, the door closing behind them to keep them away from prying eyes.

“Where-”

“Utility closet,” Louis rushed out, sucking a line of bruises up Harry’s neck and biting at the spot under his jaw that had him keening high in his throat.

They shouldn’t and it was wrong and—

Harry let Louis push him against the wooden shelf, something that felt like a roll of paper towels tumbling down on their heads and to the tiled floor. Louis’ thigh slotted between Harry’s. He hadn’t been this achingly hard in weeks and he could barely think past _want you, need you, right now._

He pulled Louis in impossibly closer with his fingers hooked into Louis’ belt, quickly unbuckling it with a click and a rasp of teeth as he pulled the zipper down.

“Fuck you, Harry Styles,” Louis whispered, hands untucking Harry’s shirt and sliding under to touch feverish skin, palms smoothing over the planes of Harry’s back.

Harry found Louis’ mouth blindly, licked the bow of Louis’ lips with the tip of his tongue, heart beating somewhere high in his throat because Louis wouldn’t stop caressing him everywhere, like Harry’s body was his to touch and tease as he pleased. Like Harry belonged only to him.

“ _Please._ ”

“Say you want me.” Louis pulled back, licked over Harry’s open mouth, blunt nails scratching down Harry’s back.

“Yeah, yes.” He tilted his head back and moaned, hips rocking restlessly because it was becoming painful and Louis wasn’t nearly close enough.

 

“Say it.” Louis’ blazer dropped to the floor and Harry snuck his hands into Louis’ unzipped jeans, gripping right under his bum cheeks to pull him in, sucking kisses into Louis’ throat.

“I want you.”

“Yeah?” Louis sounded strangled and breathless and he was cupping Harry over his tight jeans, squeezing rhythmically until Harry’s mind was drawing a blank, all the blood rushing into his cock, pulsing in sync with his jack-rabbiting heartbeat.

They kissed, messy and sloppy, tongues gliding over each other and heads tilted to the side to get as deep as possible, Harry’s jeans pushed down to his thighs.

“Fuck,” they both breathed out in unison, laughed into each other’s mouths when their hips met again, every dirty grind making Harry shiver down to his toes.

“Pants, get them,” Harry managed, yanking Louis’ boxers under the curve of his ass and panting into his mouth, “off.”

Louis’ breath stuttered, bare cock spilling precome on the silk of Harry’s shirt and Harry banded his arm around Louis’ waist to haul him close so he could suck at his bottom lip until Louis was writhing against him, shaking hands sliding into Harry’s pants to wrap around him.

He threw his head back, barely noticing the twinge of pain as he hit the shelf, because Louis’ thumb was smoothing over the tip and rubbing over the slit back and forth on the right side of _too much._

“Come on,” Louis urged and Harry rubbed over Louis’ nipples through his button-up, pinching and pulling then sliding his hand lower and lower until Louis’ cock was a silky weight in his hand, hard and twitching.

Their knuckles bumped as they tugged each other off, their breaths harsh and loud in the quiet space where nothing existed but the way this felt, hot and urgent and so good Harry’s breath was catching in his throat.

Louis cupped his balls, massaging them gently and if Harry hadn’t been leaning against the shelf, his knees would have buckled. 

He took them both in his hand, pressing the tips together and squeezing, slick dripping out. He stroked it down, slippery and electrifying, the sound of it as obscene as the whimper punched out of Louis’ throat.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Louis chanted, high pitched and overwhelmed just like the way Harry felt. Their mouths met in a wet, disoriented kiss, and Harry knew he was fucked. Knew that his thirst for Louis would never, ever be quenched and this was nothing but sex, but he couldn’t make himself stop, helpless to the way it felt like nothing in the world mattered right now but _this._

“Faster,” Louis said, the movement of his lips tickling Harry’s own as they breathed each other in, Louis’ hands skidding over his increasingly sweaty skin.

Harry picked up the pace, almost blacking out with how good it felt when Louis clamped his teeth in the curve of his shoulder and bit down, sucking and sucking and sucking. Harry felt his heartbeat pulse on the tip of his tongue and in his straining cock, breathless with it.

“Close,” he rasped, gliding his palm over the tips, and stroking down to the base.

Louis’ fingers crawled up the back of his neck, pulling and tugging until Harry’s hairband fell free then burying in his hair, knotting and pulling sharply and Harry’s back bowed, hips arching into Louis’ as he shot over his fist.

He was shuddering and gasping for breath, weak and crackling with the aftershocks but never stopping the movement of his hand, never slowing down even though it was starting to err on painful.

“You like it,” Louis said, teeth scraping Harry’s earlobe and the scruff of his cheeks rubbing Harry’s jaw, “like the pain.”

He pulled Harry’s hair again and he could feel his cock give another feeble pulse, another drop of come sliding down the head.

“Gonna,” Louis said before he muffled a strangled noise in Harry’s neck, spilling over Harry’s fist. 

He started to slow down then, both of them shaking so hard it was tough to keep standing, heartbeats thudding like they were trying to catch up.

The more Harry came down from his high, the more he realised he was shut off in a dark room with his pants around his thighs and come slicking his hand, Louis’ breath damp on his neck.

He fucked up. He fucked up _so bad._

Louis seemed to have realised it too because his hand slipped out of Harry’s hair and suddenly there was chilly air rushing in the space where Louis had been pressed up against his body seconds ago.

Louis was bloody taken. Not just that, Harry might as well have fucked up their working relationship even more, and it hadn’t been that good to begin with.

“This can’t ever happen again,” Louis said tersely, still a touch breathless and in the next moment Harry could feel a paper towel being pushed into his hand. 

Neither of them said anything else and the silence was choking as they sorted themselves out.

When Louis opened the door and slipped out, he didn’t even look back.

****

“What is wrong with you?”

Louis rolled over on the backseat, turning his back on Zayn, wondering if he should laugh, because, “What _isn’t_ wrong with me?”

“You do realize you could have called a taxi, right?”

“I can’t,” Louis said past clenched teeth, tucking his knees under his chin, because he was still a little tipsy and he only trusted Zayn to drive him. He didn’t like the idea of anyone else sitting behind the wheel right now. He could still taste Harry in his mouth and feel his fingertips on his skin.

Why had he done it? 

“I feel sick.”

Zayn let out a long-suffering sigh, but he reached back to touch Louis anyway. “Lou, talk to me, bro.”

“I fucked up. Why do I always fuck everything up?”

“You’ve never fucked _me_ over,” Zayn argued.

Louis didn’t feel like being rational right now, didn’t understand why every time Harry Styles came within touching distance Louis’ foot flew right into his mouth and he just kept spitting out poison, why Harry Styles rattled him so much. Why he’d let himself give in again. This isn’t what Louis did. He didn’t do _feelings_. Didn’t crave anyone all over again the second sex was over.

“I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Oh, so it’s an existential crisis we’re dealing with then?” Zayn asked and the car swerved to the side as he took a turn. “You’re in your twenties, Lou. You’re not supposed to have it all figured out yet.”

But he did, was the thing. His father had figured it out for him years ago, had meant to curb Louis to follow in his footsteps, saying, _this is how you earn your living, getting an education and a stable job, not by following whims._

Louis still remembered the unimpressed look on his father’s face when he’d seen Louis’ attempt at song writing or signing during the school recital. He’d never really said anything, but his expression told Louis he thought Louis wasn’t good enough, not talented enough, his songs nothing but glorified child rhymes.

A part of him envied Harry so much it almost choked him. 

He wondered what his father would say now if he knew Louis had fucked his new client, if his opinion of Louis could sink any lower.

“Why are you even friends with me, Zayn?”

The radio was nothing but a soft hum of something jazzy and Louis watched the streetlights flash over the spotless upholstery.

“You’ve always been there when I needed you.”

“Sometimes I’m an awful fucking person,” Louis said, tugging the blazer tighter around his torso. It still had streaks of dust he hadn’t cared enough to brush off. 

“What is this about?”

“Harry,” Louis admitted, the name tasting bitter on his tongue, like maybe if he just spit it out quickly, all the mixed feelings would leave with it. “He makes me so mad and so… I don’t know. I start running my mouth and like, I know I’m being an asshole but I can’t stop myself and then he’s being an asshole and… everything just goes to shit and then we… and, yeah.” He couldn’t bloody admit what had happened. Not yet. He wanted Harry again. And _again._

Fuck.

“You can’t get along with everyone.” 

The car slowed down to a halt. Red light, probably.

A warm palm rubbed up and down Louis’ side, Zayn’s voice soft, “Never seen you so worked up over anyone. You don’t usually care.”

Louis exhaled, dizzy and sick to his stomach. “I just… I don’t know. I hate feeling like this.”

“Out of control?”

Louis didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.

“Will you stay at mine tonight?” he asked once the car started moving again, gravel scrunching under the tires.

“Of course.”

Everything would be better tomorrow. It had to be.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOCONTROL.MP3 :))))))


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously: Louis only likes cupcakes when Harry didn't bake them, 'Oh no, Niall!' is real, and also. ANGSTY CLOSET FROTTAGE.
> 
> Blessings to Giselle and all of you for putting up with me.

“Wow,” Ed said the second he spotted Harry making his way back to the bench. “Thought you got lost.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, not sure if he was saying this to Ed or himself or Louis because his skin was still too tight for his body, echoes of Louis’ teeth pressed into his flesh. 

It shouldn’t have happened.

“No harm done, mate.” Ed eyed him with a distinct face of someone who knew more than they were saying out loud. “Seemed like you had fun, at least.”

Harry sat down on the bench heavily and put his head in his hands. He felt sick.

“Not good then?”

Harry wasn’t even going to pretend he didn’t know what Ed was talking about. He was a mess of love bites, flushed, his hair sticking out every which way from Louis pulling on it. He had no defences left. “ _Too good._ ”

“Yeah,” Ed said, chuckling, “you’ve got, um… a bit of… stuff… on your jeans. Might want to sort that out.”

“Fuck.” He stared at the little splatter of faded white on his left thigh.

He’d never felt dirtier. This wasn’t who he was. He didn’t intentionally sleep with people who were already taken, who only wanted Harry because he was something shiny new and different and convenient.

“You look like you need more booze.” Ed clapped him on the shoulder, roused him from his increasingly guilt-ridden thoughts. When he handed Harry the bottle of half-empty champagne, Harry took it with a small smile and a thanks. He took a swig. Then another. He kept drinking until they were both leaning on each other, the ground swaying under his feet. 

He didn’t crave Louis any less.

****

“You’re a disaster,” Niall said, way too loud for an early Sunday morning, entirely unsympathetic to Harry’s plight.

Harry hugged the toilet tighter, breathing shallowly through his mouth. 

“I can’t believe Ed Sheeran slept on our couch. What the fuck, Harry?”

“Oh.” Right. He vaguely remembered taking a cab together and offering for Ed to stay the night, even if it seemed surreal in the light of the day. “Has he left yet?”

“Yeah. Told me to thank you for a fun night and said you should hang out again.” Niall sat down next to Harry on the tiled floor, cross-legged, putting his serious face on. “What’s wrong with you then?”

“Why do you keep asking me that?” 

Harry dry-heaved, but nothing came out. God, he felt bloody awful. His knees ached from having knelt on the floor for so long.

He deserved worse.

Niall kept staring.

“I hooked up with Louis,” Harry whispered, wincing at how loud it came off anyway. 

“Are you having me on?” Niall asked, regarding Harry as suspiciously as he had that one time they’d played Monopoly and Harry had kept stealing money from the bank.

“We were just arguing and then we were snogging and then…yeah. It just kind of happened.”

He couldn’t quite look Niall in the eye.

“So, you’re like—”

“Nothing. We’re nothing,” Harry jumped in, licking over his chapped lips. “He has a, um… he’s involved.” Maybe Louis didn’t even do exclusive, but Harry didn’t _know_ that. His stomach rebelled again. He took a deep breath, mildly comforted by Niall’s hand on his back. “And I knew, but I went and did it anyway.”

“Him, you mean. Did _him_.”

“This isn’t the time for jokes, Niall.”

“Never a bad time for jokes,” Niall said as he continued to rub circles into Harry’s back. Always a guaranteed way to keep Harry’s belligerence levels to minimum.

“I’m the fucking worst, because I _knew_ , but I kissed him and I… I _want_ him. I want him so fucking much, still. I thought it would have got him out of my system but it only got worse and I—” He exhaled a sour breath, wondering how he’d survive the Skype call to Mum without giving himself away. This wasn’t how she’d raised him. “I know it’s not real, but I want him anyway.”

Louis wasn’t ever going to love him, nothing past a quick rough and tumble secreted away in some closet or the backseat of a car, but. Harry wasn’t done yet. He wasn’t done wanting Louis.

****

Louis had had barely a week before he had to face Harry again. Six days of hiding and panicking and clinging to Zayn’s back under his duvet and hoping whatever the hell Harry had been making him feel would magically disappear.

It didn’t.

“I would have managed it myself but I have to fly out to New York for a meeting,” Karen had told Louis, right after she’d issued him with overlooking a recording studio session between Harry and the producer they’d appointed him with.

Louis had meant to spend the weekend there all along to get out of the house while his father was hosting a party, but he had fish-mouthed anyway. A part of him was eager to come up with excuses why this was a bad idea, but Karen had already had one foot out the door. 

“If there’s any problem, I’ll be on my phone!”

“Okay,” he’d said to no one, fighting the urge to flee to a jungle and never come back. He’d have looked quite dashing in a loincloth.

Now as he keyed into his father’s guesthouse where he held a recording studio, Louis was starting to really reconsider the whole jungle thing. 

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. 

As much as he valued his own ass, he’d rather not fuck up Harry’s creative flow in the process by hovering over his shoulder like some kind of constant reminder of what they’d done, distracting him. In a way, he was Louis’ client too. If Louis ever wanted to be seen as anything more than just a boss’ privileged son, he had to prove himself. He couldn’t do that if he was screwing the talent.

He’d asked Karen for Harry’s songs last week, feeling a lot like he was being transparent and Karen would just take one look at him and suspect him of being more than professionally interested. Which he _wasn’t, wasn’t, shouldn’t be._

The thing was, the songs were actually good. Fucking incredible, if Louis was honest, even if he couldn’t bear to listen to more than the first 30 seconds of each track. It felt too much like Harry was singing straight to him, deep and heartfelt and a little bit dirty. Every time he breathed, Louis’ mind wouldn’t stop flashing back to how it had felt to have Harry breathing against his skin, hot and heavy. 

Fuck.

He pocketed his keys and refused to think too much about this. Not when there was a job to be done.

He wandered down into the basement, trailed his fingers over the wooden panels of the walls, knowing each nook and cranny of the place so well he could navigate it blindfolded. He’d spent so many of his weekends here. 

When he’d been little he’d used to mess up all the settings on the sound board just because he’d been explicitly told not to.

Well, to be fair, he’d done the very same thing last month when he’d been last here, so he probably hadn’t changed that much.

He slipped in unnoticed and sat off to the side, trying and failing not to stare at Harry who was inside the recording booth already. He was wearing tight black jeans rolled up to his ankles and a loose black T-shirt with long sleeves pooling over his knuckles, the thin jersey so well worn it was see-through every time the light from the wall lamps hit him just right. He had flip-flops on his awkward, too big feet, a line of fading bruises littering his throat and disappearing behind the collar of that soft T-shirt.

Somewhere deep, deep down, Louis wished they never faded.

_You’re a proper creep, watching him when you know he doesn’t see you._

It was just Harry and a blond lad with a guitar in his hands and the producer. They seemed to be talking, Harry and blond lad side by side and the producer facing them, arms crossed over his barrel-like chest in a way that screamed tension.

Louis flicked on the button to hear what was going on inside the soundproofed booth. He’d never claimed not to be a nosy bastard.

“—sounds a bit maudlin. Let’s make it a bit more happy.”

“But… this song is about wanting someone you can’t properly have? And, like, knowing you’re not the only one in their life but going along with it anyway?”

The producer seemed impatient as he said, “Okay. But if you tweak the lyrics and the chords and the tempo, the melody would really fit a happy tune. Like, about partying and living it up.”

“I mean,” Harry started, his feet turned in, fingers plucking at the sleeves of his tent of a T-shirt. It made him look smaller than he really was, like someone Louis wanted to put under his arm and growl at anyone who got too close, “that’s not really what I want my music to be about. And I’m glad you like the melody, but maybe… maybe we can focus more on making the song effective at conveying the message?”

The producer rubbed a hand down his face, sighing. “I’ll be honest, I don’t do songs about heartbreak, none of that whiny, mopey acoustic shit. I’m here to make you sellable, bro. And you know what sells? A backbeat.”

Harry seemed taken aback, fumbling. “Right, well then let’s… let’s talk about production, because I thought what the Arctic Monkeys did with ‘Why’d you only call me when you’re high’ was really interesting and—”

“If you wanted the Arctic Monkeys producer you should have called that guy,” the producer snapped out. 

The blond lad glanced between the producer and Harry as if he was watching a tennis match. His fingers kept strumming the guitar strings almost out of habit.

“No, I’m happy to work with you,” Harry said, almost pleading, “but I just want to make sure the music we make is a reflection of, like, _me_ as an artist, you know?”

“Trust me, buddy, that right there is the problem. I don’t see an artist. I see a wannabe with a pretty face and there are ten more just like you lining up to suck my dick and get on a record. You’ll be lucky if you manage to get a few hits in before everyone gets bored of looking at you, so I suggest we either do things my way and make money for everyone involved while we can or we don’t do them at all, got it?” 

The blond lad stopped strumming, his fingers skidding down the strings with an echoing clang.

Louis’ fingers paused on the sound knobs and like… no. Because Harry was so fucking talented, so unique and unapologetically himself, with a voice that could emote _anything_ and lyrics that were raw and brave in a way Louis could never quite manage. Harry wasn’t afraid to bare himself down to his marrow and right now Louis felt like someone had just lit a spark in his belly, fire blazing all the way up to his head.

Harry _deserved_ to be given a chance.

It spurred him off the chair and right into the sound booth, the door snicking shut behind him, drawing everyone’s gaze. 

Harry’s eyes looked glassy, his mouth a strained line.

Louis turned to the producer and said, “If you can’t respect our client’s vision I suggest you pack your useless ideas and find someone else to ‘produce’. Right. Now.” He bared his teeth in a sharp grin, daring the man to argue. Oh, Louis fucking dared him to.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Did I stutter?”

The man was a head taller than Louis, could probably knock Louis out with a single punch, but Louis had always been the best at acting as if he was six feet tall. 

“Don’t think Charles won’t hear about this.”

Louis snorted. “Please do. He won’t tell me anything I haven’t heard a hundred times before. Now, there is no window in this bloody place and you _stink_ , so…”

The blond started cackling, startling Louis into remembering he and the producer weren’t the only people in the room.

“You better start looking for a new job,” the producer hissed, his shoulder ramming into Louis’ on the way out. It jostled him, made him stumble backwards, so close to Harry he could feel Harry’s body heat radiate off his flesh.

Louis resisted the urge to rub at the sore spot, to look back at Harry. He wasn’t about to admit to a weakness more than he already had.

“That was incredible,” the blonde said, seemingly impervious to the climbing tension in the room. “Nice work there. I was starting to think your entire company was a shower of cunts.”

“Niall!”

“Um,” Louis said, gaze drawn to Harry who had slunk off to a small stool in the corner and sat down, hands folded despondently in his lap. 

“You do work for the label, don’t you?” the blonde, apparently called Niall, asked. Louis’ gaze snapped back to him, flushing guiltily at being caught watching Harry as if he had the right.

He pulled himself back together, stretched to his full height, wondering if his every thought was written on his face. “Yeah, I do. I’m the manager’s assistant. I’m filling in for her while she’s away.”

“Sick,” the blonde said, glancing back at Harry over his shoulder, fingers plucking at the strings again, as though he couldn’t quite keep his hands off them for too long. “You gonna introduce us or not?”

Harry swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing as looked at Niall with a strange expression, pleading almost. For what, Louis didn’t know. 

“This is, um… Louis. Tomlinson.”

Louis offered his hand on instinct, faltering when the other lad threw his head back and laughed, loud and unrestrained and like Louis’ name was a punchline to a joke he clearly wasn’t getting.

“Niall, come on, can you just—” Harry sighed.

Louis lowered his hand, looking over at Harry who wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“So you’re _the_ Louis,” Louis heard right before he was pulled into a one-armed hug and squeezed a little too viciously, guitar digging into his belly.

“Uh,” he said eloquently, stiff as a board because here was this complete stranger, hugging him as if they’d known each other for years. Louis had never been particularly good at being affectionate to people he didn’t know. Or, well, to people in general.

“You better not be a dick to Harry,” Niall whispered in a way that definitely came off as a threat. Louis had a feeling this kid could impale him with something sharp then laugh about it later. He’d never trusted happy people.

With a final pat to Louis’ back, Niall pulled away, grinning, oblivious to Louis’ discomfort. Or perhaps all too satisfied with having caused it. “Nice to finally meet you. I’m Niall.”

“Hi, it’s,” Louis fixed his fringe with jittery fingers, trying to gather himself, “nice to meet you too?”

What had Harry even told the guy? Did he know all the sordid details, the way Louis couldn’t control himself around Harry at all? 

Fuck, this was embarrassing, and Louis had never been one to embarrass easily.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Harry finally said, rising from the stool, and Louis realised with a start that Harry was talking to him. “You just got us both in trouble.”

Louis bristled, on edge already, angry because Harry would just let someone speak to him like that. That one time Louis was trying to do right thing all he got in return was a frown and a look of betrayal. “Well, excuse me for giving a fuck about y—” he stopped, bit down on his tongue, breathed out, “Karen’s client.”

Harry shook his head, boring holes into Louis’ face, brows creased in that way Louis refused to admit was a bit intimidating. “You can’t just… go off on someone like that. I could have handled it. I don’t need you to save me.”

“Fuck, there’s so much stress in this room, I’ll just… you two need to sort your shit out. Call me when you’re done,” Louis heard Niall say before the door clicked closed. 

Louis’ gaze had never left Harry’s face.

“Yes, you did,” Louis said. “You’d have just let him warp your songs into something you wouldn’t even want to sing. I was acting in your best interest.”

Harry took a step closer, looked almost angry about it. “Fuck, Louis. What are you _doing_?”

For once, Louis knew exactly what to say.

“My job.”

****

The dim golden light shattered over Louis’ sharp cheekbones and Harry had to tuck his hands into his sleeves because a part of him wanted to tackle Louis to the floor and bite his mouth. A part of him was upset, with himself, with Louis, with the bloody producer who had been badgering Harry about his songs for the better part of the past hour until he started to feel like he was disposable, nothing but a ‘pretty face’.

The worst thing was… what if the producer had been right?

“You could have been nicer about it,” Harry said quietly, his heartbeat kicking up because it was just he and Louis in this small cubicle of a room with nowhere to hide.

“Nicer,” Louis repeated mockingly, brows cocked in disbelief as though that word wasn’t even a part of his vocabulary. “Sorry, love. That’s not how I work.”

“Don’t call me love,” Harry blurted out, heat flooding his cheeks because he hated the way it made him _feel._

“Right, I forgot,” Louis’ lashes swept down to cover his eyes before he looked up again, intense and almost teasing, “You like ‘kitten’ better.”

Harry’s breath caught in his throat. The room seemed to have shrunk, too little air and too much want wriggling deep in his belly. He’d never expected Louis to bring it up, mind flashing back to the way Louis’ skin had almost given under his teeth, how his pulse had thudded again Harry’s tongue and under his palm as he stroked down Louis’ slick cock. “Don’t.”

“If that’s what you really want,” Louis said, more like a question, voice soft enough to get lost in the quiet hum of the AC.

“You said it yourself. It can’t ever happen again.” Harry had been telling himself the same thing ever since he’d walked out of the utility closet. 

He was terrified it wouldn’t stick. 

Every time he was around Louis, he found it hard to remember why he shouldn’t kiss his way up the elegant arch of Louis’ neck and press his lips to the spot behind Louis’ ear.

Louis stayed quiet.

It made Harry fidget, made him drop his gaze down to his bare toes, ready to blurt out an interesting fact about swans or even worse, the thing that had been bothering him long before Louis had stepped into the studio.

“How about we—”

“What if—”

They stopped at the same time, fumbling.

“What?” Louis asked.

Harry almost swallowed the words back. He felt too raw and vulnerable, and that was never a good thing. He didn’t know how to exist without his heart on his sleeve. “Like, what if… what if he was right? The producer, I mean. He’s the one who knows what he’s doing, and I’m just… I don’t,” he trailed off, already regretting having opened his mouth. “I really don’t want to mess this up.”

_Fuck, this isn’t Niall, you can’t just… you shouldn’t. He’ll use it against you._

There was something, a flicker of softness in Louis’ face before he turned towards the door. Harry must have imagined it.

“I know you think I have no idea what I’m doing and I don’t even deserve to be on your team, but I _am_ ,” Louis glanced over his shoulder, eyebrow arched, “I didn’t send him off just to get you in trouble. Whatever happened between us,” he half-turned towards Harry again, pointing between the two of them, “has nothing to do with _this_. I’m trying to do my job well, it’s not some kind of bloody game to me.”

“Well, it’s not like,” Harry started, already wishing he could take it all back, “I’ve got more to lose, is all.”

Louis’ shoulders tensed and he suddenly looked so small, so much less like the Louis who seemed to fill up the entire room just by being in it. It unsettled Harry. 

“All right,” Louis said, chuckling, though there was no humour in it. It was more… resigned. It made Harry feel like shit. “You’ve no reason to trust me, I get it. I do. Let me just tell you, all the money’s not worth sacrificing the reason you’re doing this. Don’t just fucking compromise your music because some entitled prat tells you it’s the right thing. If you’re not doing it because you love it, people can _always_ tell. It makes you burn out after a few years, but I guess… if you’re only in it for a couple hits and a quick buck, tell me now and I won’t bother standing up for you again.”

Harry felt his heart drop down to his heels, gaze flitting off because he wasn’t quite able to look Louis in the eye. The words _I’m sorry_ itched on the tip of his tongue. 

Louis turned his back on Harry again and he realised he’d been just standing there like a knob, quiet and tense and stupidly stubborn. 

“It’s not,” he said quietly, making Louis pause. “That’s not what I want. I want… I want to do this forever, if I can.”

“Good,” Louis said, voice flat, as if he didn’t care. “I’ll get you a different producer then. I’ll be upstairs.”

He walked out of the studio without looking back.

****

Louis refused to ask Karen for help. It’s not that he was prideful. He just… he knew he could do this, even if the only person believing it was himself. It was fine. To be expected, even. Everyone he knew had expected him to fail his entire life and Harry had no reason to think otherwise. Louis was flighty and gobby and a bit of a shit, if he was honest with himself.

_You’ll never amount to anything._

For the longest time he’d thought it fruitless to even try, because why should he? No matter how hard he tried, no matter what he did, it had never been enough for his father. Not enough to make Jo fight for him.

_I think it would be best for you if you stayed at your dorms rather than here, honey. You’ll have more space to yourself._

He thumbed through his phone for Julian’s number and hit ‘call’ without a second thought. 

He was going to do this one thing right if it killed him. He was going to prove everyone wrong.

****

“It’s late,” Louis said as he walked back down to the studio on heavy, tired feet.

Harry was sitting down on the floor with a guitar in his lap. He didn’t look like he knew how to play it all that well.

Louis had shown Niall out about an hour ago, still unsure what the lad really thought of him. It was probably best not to know.

“Sorry.” Harry looked up, put the guitar down carefully, knees drawn up to his chest. “I thought you’d have already left.”

“I’m spending the weekend here,” Louis said, trying not cross his arms over his chest defensively. He didn’t want to explain himself. Preferred not to think about the kind of party his father was hosting at their house. “I got you a new producer. Julian Bunetta. A good bloke. Jesus hair. You two should get on like a house on fire.”

Harry gave him a look like a wounded puppy, plucking at his denim clad knee. “Thanks. I’m sorry about—”

“Whatever,” Louis said, shrugging it off. It didn’t matter. “Let’s not talk about it.”

Harry pursed his lips but didn’t say anything else.

“Should I call you a taxi?” Louis asked because he wasn’t a complete bastard and being alone in the house with only Harry for company was making him feel a little reckless. That was never a good thing, especially when Zayn wasn’t there to talk him off the proverbial ledge.

Harry turned a bit red, fingers pulling at his bottom lip.

Louis tore his gaze away and swallowed hard because he couldn’t forget how it felt to have those lips pressed hot and open against his skin.

“I’m, um… Charles told me I could stay here, actually? Because I kind of, like… I took time off work for the weekend so I could work on stuff and I didn’t want to spend extra money on the gas to drive back and forth,” Harry said, almost defensively, as if he was daring Louis to make some kind of comment. “Plus, Niall and our flatmate keep shagging really bloody loudly almost every night and I need a break.” 

It startled a laugh out of Louis that he definitely wasn’t proud of. He choked it back right away but the damage had already been done and Harry was staring at him owlishly, as though Louis had just spouted an extra limb out of his head.

Louis barely resisted the urge to cringe. And then it actually hit him. “Wait. So you’re spending the weekend here?”

As in, the two of them. Alone. Unsupervised.

They were going to _kill_ each other. In Louis’ mind, that was the better alternative than the other thing.

He needed to stop staring at Harry’s mouth.

“I mean,” Harry stuttered, pushing himself up to his feet and digging his knuckles into his back, wincing, “Yeah? Not like I knew you’d be here.”

“What, Styles? Too much temptation for you?”

Louis wondered if Harry’s head would explode if he turned any redder. Maybe he shouldn’t draw this sick kind of satisfaction out of throwing Harry for a loop.

“Why aren’t you at Charles’ then? Spending some quality time together?” Harry asked, desperately trying not think of Louis and temptation in the same sentence because he’d promised himself. 

Louis grimaced and for a second Harry thought he wouldn’t even answer. When he did, Harry almost wished he wouldn’t have.

“Trying to avoid him for the weekend, aren’t I? He’s having a little swingers get together at home. They’re not very subtle.”

And what the actual fuck? Why was Louis just standing here talking about Charles shagging other people at their home as if it was common? And maybe it was Harry. Maybe he wasn’t as open-minded as he thought he was, because he’d never been good at sharing, couldn’t imagine having Louis as his and casting him aside in favour of someone else.

Harry had only had Louis twice and he still couldn’t shake him, couldn’t help but want and need and crave being that close again.

“You hate it,” Harry observed quietly, unsure if he was toeing behind the line of acceptable and Louis would kick him out in a second.

_This isn’t your place. He’s an adult. If he cares more about money and prestige than he does about being happy, about being loved, that’s his choice._

“Obviously,” Louis said, shrugging as if it didn’t even touch him. Something about him was off though. Something in the way he held himself a bit more stiffly, in the way the corners of his lips slumped into a frown for just a second before Louis remembered himself and put on a mask of indifference again. 

“Why don’t you tell him?” Harry pressed, even though he didn’t even want to know, felt like he was scratching over a fresh wound. He needed to know though, needed to understand, to selfishly know that Louis didn’t love the man at all.

_Then maybe what we did wasn’t as wrong._

He was grasping at straws and he knew it.

“I did,” Louis said shortly, snorting. “Told him I didn’t appreciate a stranger coming into my room and bloody coming on to me, but he wasn’t very sympathetic.”

Louis clamped his mouth shut, avoiding Harry’s horrified gaze, shaking his head and trying to laugh it off as if it wasn’t even a big deal, as if he hadn’t meant to even say that all in the first place and was now trying to play it off.

_Why the fuck are you with him? What is wrong with you? Is it even worth it?_

Harry didn’t voice his thoughts, torn between closing the distance and just… shaking some sense into Louis, and cupping his face so he could breathe _just leave him_ into his mouth.

Louis would never want Harry anyway, not like… they wanted different things, clearly.

Harry felt helpless anyway, like he might have let Louis use him when he wasn’t on his guard. It scared him more than anything.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Louis said, pulling at the bottom of his T-shirt. “I don’t need your pity.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Save it, kitten.” Louis heaved a sigh, beckoned him with his hand as he turned on his heel. “Come on, I’ll show you to a guest room.”

Harry wasn’t sure how he’d survive the weekend.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No matter what universe, Harry will always end up with jizz jeans. rip


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously: If anyone but Louis dares to talk down to Harry, Louis turns into a mother bear, too happy people cannot be trusted and Harry and Louis are forced to spend the weekend together because Charles is a swinger. 
> 
> Currently: Giselle is the absolute best.
> 
> Also, last summer I saw a long-haired middle-aged man in a flower blouse and denim short shorts, rocking them with his legs worthy of a twenty-year-old woman, and I think I saw Harry's future.

Louis didn’t even wait for him. He just turned on his heel and started walking away, expecting Harry to follow. The entire guest house was eerily quiet and Harry felt like his every breath sounded as loud as a gunshot as he followed Louis up to the ground floor and then up another flight of stairs, the bare soles of Louis’ feet slapping on the glassy steps.

“Damn it,” Louis said suddenly, pausing. “Think I forgot my charger.”

“Are you not—” Harry started, his voice too loud even to his own ears, “can you not go get it from the main house?”

Louis gripped the banister and resumed walking up the stairs. Harry wasn’t proud of the way his gaze lingered on the gentle sway of Louis’ hips, but he was too weak to stop, his conscience firing excuse after excuse of _Charles doesn’t give a fuck about him_ and _Louis doesn’t even love him._

“I could,” Louis said quietly. “Don’t want to step inside that house before I absolutely have to though. Not until they’re all gone. I’d much rather move in here permanently, if I could.”

“Why don’t you?” Harry asked before he could remind himself to stop sticking his nose where it didn’t belong.

Louis shrugged. Harry wished he could see Louis’ face. “Too much hassle to move all my stuff.”

Harry doubted that was the only reason but had enough judgment left to bite down on his tongue this time. Something told him Charles wouldn’t let Louis out of his sight like that. 

It was so fucked up.

He tripped as they reached the landing and barely caught himself on the banister, blushing when Louis glanced over his shoulder. He wondered if it was karma catching up to him.

“Well, don’t brain yourself, Curly. Don’t want all my efforts to be in vain.”

He’d meant it to be scathing, probably. Teasing, definitely. Too bad Harry’s brain was stuck on the ‘Curly’, refusing to budge. 

“Yeah,” was all Harry managed.

Louis let out an exasperated sigh and started moving again, flicking the lights on. The narrow corridor lit up with a golden hue. It made Louis’ skin look soft and shiny and Harry’s fingertips were itching with the urge to slide down the back of Louis’ neck, a tremor of deep-seated want settling in his bones.

He didn’t even notice Louis stop, stumbled right into his body, hands catching on Louis’ hips to keep his balance. He let go as if burned, breathing in through his mouth to get rid of Louis’ scent lingering in his nose. Fuck, he smelled good.

“Sorry,” he said, wiping his palms on his thighs even though they weren’t even sweaty. He wanted to touch Louis so bad it was becoming an exercise in restraint.

“’S fine,” Louis said quietly, his back to Harry. He pushed the door to the room open and turned the lights on. “Someone comes around here every week to keep everything clean, so… no need to worry about the state of the sheets.”

Harry stepped past the doorstep and watched Louis stride over to the window, unlatching it and opening it wide.

“A bit stuffy in here though,” Louis said, a light breeze stirring his soft hair. He hadn’t put any product in it and Harry wondered what it would feel like if he buried his hands in it right now.

He tried not to think about them being here alone. That he could just crowd Louis against the bed and topple them over, kiss the hollow of Louis’ throat without having to worry someone would catch them.

“What?” Louis asked, facing him now.

Harry didn’t realize he’d been staring. His tongue felt too heavy in his mouth, weighed down with all the words he couldn’t say out loud. He settled on, “I’m sorry, Louis.”

Louis squinted at him, shoulders drawing tight. “What for?”

“The whole,” Harry gestured stupidly, holding Louis’ gaze even though it was making it hard to think properly, “thing. Earlier. I don’t think you’re doing it to fuck me over, I don’t, I just… thanks, you know. For standing up for me. Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me again. I was just doing my job.” Louis took a deep breath, shoulders slumping on the exhale. “If you want to clean up, towels are in the closet.” 

Harry knew a change of topic when he heard one. He’d half expected Louis to take the gratitude and dangle it over Harry’s head, yet here he was, no longer paying Harry any attention, looking like he couldn’t get away fast enough.

Harry caught Louis’ wrist right as Louis was about to pass him by, not even knowing why, just… he couldn’t quite let Louis go. Not yet. “Louis.”

“What?” Louis tensed, but didn’t wrench his hand out of Harry’s grasp. His pulse skittered beneath the pad of Harry’s thumb.

“Good night.”

Louis’ chest rose and fell on a breath and he was so close Harry could lean in and press his lips to the paper-thin skin under Louis’ eyes, if he wanted to. He shouldn’t even be thinking of this. Shouldn’t still be touching Louis as if he was his.

“Don’t get soft on me now, Styles,” Louis said and his hand slipped out of Harry’s loose hold, his fingertips sliding over Louis’ wrist bones.

He kept staring at the open doorway even after Louis had already gone, fingertips tingling.

****

The walls were thin.

Honestly, Harry was _cursed._

He was usually a heavy sleeper but that didn’t count for much when he was still tossing and turning, wide awake even though his limbs were heavy with exhaustion.

He’d just buried his face in the fluffy pillow that smelled like washing powder— the nice kind that smelled like chamomiles— when he heard it.

A moan.

A muffled one, yeah, but a moan nonetheless. All thoughts of sleep flew right out of his head, ears straining to catch any other sound just to see if he’d imagined it, hyperaware of Louis’ every movement from the neighbouring room.

The flimsy bit of plaster of a wall did little to smother another strangled whimper, the lightest creak of the bed frame that definitely wasn’t Harry’s.

And even though he told himself not to listen, to plug his ears or to at least cough really loudly to let Louis know he wasn’t exactly being quiet, Harry’s body flushed with heat, his heart picking up speed.

When Louis moaned again, loud and drawn out and desperate, Harry had to bite down on the pillow, torn between feeling guilty and fighting the urge to get up and cross the distance to watch Louis’ hand stroke down his cock with nothing but shadows between them.

He got fully hard so quickly it made him dizzy, exhaled a silent breath into the pillow, sweat beading along his hairline.

Louis must have looked so pretty right now, skin tinted pale blue as shadows danced over all his sharp edges, pooled in the dips under his collarbones and the soft lines of his V-line, mouth parted and eyes squeezed shut because the touch of his own hand had got to be too much.

“Fuck,” Harry whispered soundlessly, hips rubbing against the mattress of their own volition, hands fisting the sheets.

The memory of the way Louis tasted lingered on the tip of his tongue and he wanted it again, wanted to chase it with his mouth and drag his tongue down Louis’ arched throat, sucking bruises into his caramel skin.

_You have to stop this. This is going to lead to nothing but heartbreak._

And maybe it was his lust addled mind, maybe it was him knowing he was too weak to fight this, but right now… _he didn’t care._

 _I want him, I want him, I want,_ ran on loop in his mind, hips grinding against the mattress, gasping at the same time he heard Louis do the same, wishing they were tangled up in the sheets together, no words or past or future, just the two of them tasting each other for days.

He could feel the white hot heat pooling in his belly, back muscles straining with each desperate downward thrust of his hips, his boxers getting wetter with each movement, soft cotton rubbing against the sensitive tip.

It was the sound Louis made that did it. That keening noise, high pitched and raspy. Harry knew what it felt like having it breathed against his skin, knew what it meant, could feel himself teetering on the brink too. And then Louis moaned something, a garbled mess of syllables that sounded a lot like Harry’s name and his hips jerked forward, the tight ball at the base of his spine snapping loose, heat flooding his entire body, his toes digging into the mattress as he spurted into his boxers so hard he groaned into the pillow, shaking with the force of it.

It took him another minute to loosen his grip on the sheets, to release the spit-dampened pillow and roll onto his back. His boxers were soaked and he had to kick the covers off because his skin was too hot, too sensitive, his head a mess.

The guilty knot in his stomach wouldn’t loosen up and no matter what he told himself, but he didn’t think he could stop this if he tried.

This was going to end in a disaster.

****

The shame of what he’d done the night before was harder to ignore in the light of the morning.

_He’s working with you and Charles holds your bloody fate in his hands. Don’t fuck this up for someone who will never be yours._

He stood in the middle of the bedroom, still wet from the shower, naked and dripping on the hardwood floor, avoiding looking at his face in the floor length mirrors of the built-in closet. 

He padded over to it and pushed the doors open, flushing at the thought of what it would have looked like to have sex in front of those mirrors, he and Louis pressed chest to chest, hands touching everywhere.

_Stop, stop, stop._

He was just about to grab a towel when his gaze caught a glimpse of a book tucked away at the back of the shelf.

He knotted a fluffy white towel around his hips quickly, fingertips already inching closer, eager for a distraction.

The cover was made of smooth, well-worn leather, a rope string tying it closed.

Not a book. A journal.

He shouldn’t.

_It’s probably empty anyway._

He untied the string and let the journal fall open in his hands, glancing towards the window as though expecting someone standing there with a disapproving glare.

The pages were a little crinkled, some empty, some filled top to bottom with lines and lines of words, scratched out and not. 

_Lyrics._

He thumbed over some of the bent corners, smoothing out the inked paper as he skimmed over the words, helpless to deny his own curiosity. He wondered who’d left it here. Why they’d just abandon days and weeks of effort lying on a shelf, gathering dust. If they’d been just like him, spending hours in a studio down in the basement, hoping to make it.

He didn’t recognize any of the lyrics as songs he might have heard, so… probably not. 

It made him feel strangely protective. A little sad, too. He’d caught sight of a few lines he wished he’d come up with himself.

_Knock. Knock._

He startled and shoved the journal back into the corner, his heart pounding.

He wasn’t ready to look Louis in the eye. Quite possibly ever. 

He twisted to face the door.

“You up?” sounded through the door.

“Um, yeah?”

Louis popped in, bleary eyed, dressed in dark joggers and a grey vest too big for his frame. 

Harry clutched at his towel, feeling entirely too naked, wondering if he had a _‘I wanked over you’_ sign stapled to his forehead.

“Oh, you’re—” Louis said, gaze sweeping over Harry’s bare chest. “Come down when you’re ready. There’s… well, cereal is about the extent of it.”

Before Harry could even open his mouth, Louis was gone.

Harry let out a breath he’d been holding and collapsed back on the bed.

****

The kitchen was uncomfortably quiet and Harry was about to sweat through his plaid shirt right where he was sitting on a stool behind a kitchen island. He’d never been good at lying and now that Louis wasn’t even talking to him, just arching his eyebrow and thumbing not so innocuously over the tip of a water bottle before he set it down and headed for the fridge.

It all seemed like a passive aggressive set-up to make Harry confess.

_He must have heard me._

Louis knew Harry had rubbed one off right into the sheets in the guest room, knew what a perverted voyeur Harry truly was.

He must have grunted way too loud not to be overheard.

Harry’s life was one awful joke.

“So, do you want Coco Pops or—”

“I heard you, okay?” Harry blurted because he couldn’t hold it in anymore, needed to clear his admittedly blackened conscience.

Louis closed the fridge and turned to look at him, brows furrowed.

Harry wasn’t strong enough to withstand the pressure.

His cheeks were burning and he just wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole, suck him straight into hell where he belonged for lusting over someone so wrong for him.

“Come on then, spit it out, Styles,” Louis said, raising his eyebrow, a carton of milk in his hands, the very same hands that had been stroking his own cock just a few hours ago. “Let’s have it.”

Harry swallowed hard, dropped his gaze to his hands nervously smoothing over the countertop, “I know you know I know.”

“Do I, now?”

****

Louis had no idea what Harry was going on about but he looked about ready to keel over and Louis had always liked to make pretty boys squirm.

He put the milk down in the line of Harry’s eyesight and leaned forward against the kitchen island, staring Harry down.

He wouldn’t meet Louis’ eyes.

“This doesn’t have to turn ugly if you just tell me.”

Louis was having way too much fun watching Harry get increasingly flustered.

“Last night,” Harry squeaked before he cleared his throat, rubbing at a non-existent stain on the countertop. “I’m… I didn’t mean to, like… you were just so _loud_ , and I--  
”

Last night?

Louis blinked, his grip on the counter falling lax. “Loud?”

Harry turned bright red and if Louis wasn’t already halfway there himself, he’d have laughed himself into an early death at the wide-eyed expression on Harry’s face.

“Yes!” Harry burst out, finally meeting Louis’ gaze. “You were all… moaning and making those sounds and I just… I didn’t mean to, all right? I—”

“You what?” Louis urged, his mouth dry, heart thundering in his ears. 

“Are you going to make me spell it out for you?”

“Yes,” Louis said, wondering just how fucked up he was that this was turning him on. 

“I… wanked, all right?” Harry mumbled, hiding his face in his hands. “I heard you and it got me hot and I got off on it, and can we please never talk about this ever again?”

Louis fish-mouthed, his pants now uncomfortably tight because he hadn’t even realised how loud he’d been, thought Harry would have been long asleep. And yet there he’d been, sweaty and desperate, tangled up in the sheets as he’d listened to Louis through the wall. _Wanting him._

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered, sounding downtrodden and guilty.

“Are you really?” Louis asked. _Stop thinking with your cock and let this go._

He just… he couldn’t. No matter what he did, he couldn’t stop wanting Harry and it was slowly driving him mad.

“Yes.”

They stared at each other, just breathing. Louis wanted to round the kitchen island and lick over the bow of Harry’s bitten lips.

The stalemate broke when the doorbell rang.

Louis snapped out of it, breaking the eye contact, wondering if the universe was telling him to keep his cock in his pants too.

He went to open the door.

****

Harry knew how to admit his mistakes and this was definitely one of them. Because Louis had been right. It wasn’t such a tough pill to swallow when Harry was now sitting on the floor of the studio surrounded with sheets of papers and nearly finished lyrics to a song that had been buzzing around his head for ages.

Julian had been nothing but supportive, nudging Harry in all the right directions, helping him polish the verse and tighten up the chorus until it sounded just right. He wasn’t fighting Harry every step of the way, making him feel like he had no place here. He could imagine them being friends, even.

“What’s it like working with Louis then?” Julian asked and Harry barely resisted the urge to flounder, remembering that he didn’t have his every thought about Louis pinned to his chest like a scarlet letter. “I mean, he can be a bit of a cunt at first, but once you get to know him, he’s a top dude. Wouldn’t mind working with more people like him.” 

Julian scratched something out on a sheet of paper in his lap, scrawled something in the margins, oblivious to Harry’s internal struggle.

“Well he’s, um,” Harry picked at the frayed hem of his jean shorts, “He’s really good at stuff. Like, he takes care of organizing everything, which is like, great? I haven’t spoken to my manager in a while, because she’s away, so everything is kind of coming through Louis.”

“I know him more as a partygoer than a hard-worker, so I’m glad he’s being good for you. Always thought he had more in him.”

“Yeah, he’s… he’s got my back, I feel like. He got me you, didn’t he?” Harry imagined what it would be like working with the other producer, spending hours and hours playing tug-of-war, and felt infinitely grateful.

“I reckon we’re a much better fit than you and Morris.” Julian snorted. “Don’t take me wrong. The guy knows how to make a hit but he doesn’t care much about artistic integrity. Or, well, anything but money. I’m not surprised Charles picked him. Making money has always been what he’s best at. A great guy to have on your side business-wise, but… wouldn’t want to live with him, if I’m honest. Not like Louis is.”

Harry’s heart dropped down to his feet. Because for some reason he hadn’t acknowledged that Louis could be in that deep, deep enough to be considered such a permanent fixture. “Yeah, neither would I.”

He should have known. You didn’t just go off and live with someone unless it was serious.

_But he’s not happy._

_I could make him happy,_ he thought, knowing he had no right and nothing to offer. 

It would make for another good song, at least. 

Julian handed over the sheet of paper he’d been scribbling on. “What do you think?”

Harry read the adjusted verse carefully and smiled, the corners of his mouth heavy. “Yeah, that’s perfect. It works a lot better now. Thank you.”

“Fantastic then. You up for recording vocals for it or do you need to rest for a bit? We’ve been at it for hours, so if you—”

“No,” Harry said. “No, I’m good to go.”

“All right then,” Julian said, squeezing Harry’s shoulder as he got up and headed out of the sound booth. “Go ahead and do your thing. I’ll record it.”

Harry was just settling up to the mic, fingers curled around the stand when he noticed Louis slipping in. He faltered, hands a little shaky when he caught Louis’ gaze through the windowpane.

Not like he’d written this one mostly about Louis too, or anything.

Shit.

He started out a bit wobbly, had to clear his throat and shake it off, because this wasn’t who he was. He didn’t get nervous performing in front of anyone. He wasn’t about to start now.

“You can go again,” Julian said and Harry nodded tightly, never looking away from Louis’ face as he pressed his lips to the mic, tapping out the rhythm against his thigh, singing the first part with everything he had before it flowed into the second part.

“ _Yeah, I know your love’s not real,_ ” he drawled out, clutching at the stand to keep himself grounded, wondering if Louis knew how addictive he could be. “ _That’s not the way it feels. That’s not the way you feel._ ”

Harry let his eyes slip shut, the feeling of Louis’ gaze a bit too much. “ _And yeah, I’ve let you use me from the day that we first met, but I’m not done yet falling for you_ ,” he took a deep breath, “ _fool’s gold._ ”

He finished the song, let the last notes ring out into silence, his clammy hand slipping down the stand before he felt steady enough to let go.

“That was great,” Julian said, giving him a thumbs up. “I’ll start putting it all together.”

Louis didn’t say anything, just shouldered off the wall and left.

****

Louis wasn’t avoiding Harry, exactly. He was just giving him and Julian space. They didn’t need him in the recording booth and Louis needed time off to get the image of Harry singing to him out of his head.

Not like the song was about Louis anyway. Despite what Zayn liked to claim, Louis hadn’t reached that level of self-involved yet.

 _Besides, it’s not just me. We used each other and there’s nothing wrong with that,_ he thought as he padded over to the pool in the backyard, pausing at the edge. The thing was, he didn’t want to use Harry. He just wanted… he wanted things he shouldn’t be wanting.

He jumped in headfirst, squeezed his eyes shut right before he hit the water. It rushed in, pulling him in deeper towards the bottom. It should have been quiet and calm but his mind wouldn’t stop replaying, _I knew you’d turn it on for everyone you met._

And he’d used to, had loved to lead attractive lads on, use them and leave them right after he’d got what he wanted, but… but he hadn’t done that in a while. It was losing its thrill.

_You’re losing your mind._

Maybe.

He pushed off the bottom of the pool and swam up, gasping in air once he broke the surface. 

Droplets of water dripped down into his squinting eyes and the sun was hanging low enough for it to be pleasantly warm instead of scorching hot. Maybe he could sleep here, pretend that Harry wasn’t around at all. That he wasn’t affecting Louis in a way he didn’t know how to deal with. That he didn’t sometimes catch himself imagining doing nothing but laying Harry down and kissing him until they both got too tired to move. It made him want to let his walls down. 

It scared him more than anything.

_Maybe you need to start learning how to stop running away.  
_

****

Julian had left about twenty minutes ago and Harry’s battery had run out about ten minutes into talking to Niall.

He couldn’t keep avoiding Louis forever, even though the two of them together spelled disaster.

Maybe Louis had already forgotten about Harry’s confession in the morning. Maybe he hadn’t realised the song Harry had been singing was written for him.

Yeah, Harry could hope.

He found Louis in the backyard, lying at the edge of the pool with his calves dipped in the water. His skin was still damp, the droplets of it like a fistful of glitter scattered down his chest.

He never noticed Harry approaching, Harry’s footsteps cushioned by the grass.

“Lou,” slipped out, foreign on his tongue. He shouldn’t be using nicknames. They weren’t that close.

Louis took a sharp breath, as though stirring awake and squinted up at Harry with one eye. “You finished?”

“You never told me you had a fridge full of food,” Harry said, hoping to steer clear of any topic not safe enough to breach. “Thought you only had cereal.”

Louis’ lips stretched into a lazy smile, resting his hand on his stomach.

Harry felt personally victimised by the sight.

“The only thing that doesn’t require effort,” Louis explained, kicking his leg out, splashing water across the surface.

“I could have made something.” He felt vaguely out of place, just standing here, hovering above Louis in his threadbare shirt and jean shorts when Louis’ skin was shamelessly on display, covered by nothing but a pair of blue shorts that barely reached mid-thigh.

“Do I look like I want to be poisoned?”

Harry huffed, resisting the urge to prod Louis with his foot. “I’m an excellent cook, I’ll have you know. You’re missing out.”

“Hmm,” Louis slowly sat up, his hair damp and sticking every which way. It wasn’t supposed to be cute. “I don’t believe you.”

“Is that a challenge?”

Louis shrugged and hopped up to his feet. Suddenly, Harry found himself face to face with a half naked Louis who smelled like sunshine and chlorine, summer personified. Harry had always been the summer kind of guy.

“What do I get if I win?” _Do I get a kiss?_

He bit down on his lip to keep that from slipping out.

“I’ll never mention the morning incident ever again. You know, when you told me you wank—”

“All right!” He blamed the heat of his face on the sun, even if it was heading towards the horizon already. “It’s a deal.”

Louis smirked and Harry was too distracted by the way Louis’ bum was jiggling in his shorts as he started jogging away to even question why he was doing it in the first place.

“The last one in the house stinks!” Louis called over his shoulder.

“Hey!” Harry protested, indignant and determined not to let Louis win. He ran after Louis with a burst of speed, feeling like a child but unable to resist the bait.

He caught up to Louis right as he leaped inside the house, yelling, “You stink!”

Harry was right at Louis’ heels, his socked feet skidding over the polished floor, unable to stop himself, arms flailing because Louis wasn’t moving out of his way, was just turning around when Harry crashed into him. The force of the impact toppled Louis over, hands shooting out to clutch at Harry’s shirt, their feet tangled as they went down in a flurry of limbs.

Harry had just wrapped his arms around Louis’ waist before they hit the floor and now he was stuck. _They_ were stuck. He could feel the heat of Louis’ next-to-naked body pressed against his from chest to hips, warm and squirming, his chest rising and falling on winded breaths, spread thighs cradling Harry’s hips.

“Ow,” Louis huffed, a burst of breath stirring Harry’s hair. “You’re really bloody heavy, pal.”

Louis smelled like a summer night and Harry was _this_ close to nuzzling the crook of his neck. He needed to, he just… he needed to put distance between them. “Can you, like… push yourself off a bit? I’m stuck.”

His arms were wedged between Louis’ back and the floor and he had no leverage to speak of.

“My arms are kind of trapped, in case you haven’t noticed,” Louis’ words tickled the shell of Harry’s ear, Louis’ arms indeed trapped between them. 

Harry leaned away as much as he could to look at Louis’ face, his nose brushing over Louis’ cheek.

Neither of them spoke.

Louis’ lips parted as he pulled in a shaky breath, half-lidded eyes trained on Harry’s mouth.

He was making it really, really hard for Harry to kickstart his brain.

“Afraid this is going to have to be a team effort,” Louis whispered, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue, fingertips digging into Harry’s chest. He could count all Louis’ eyelashes.

“Roll over to your left on three?” His voice was rough as if he hadn’t used it in days, but Louis’ heat was sinking into his own flesh and he’d curled his leg around Harry’s thigh, so he couldn’t really be blamed.

Louis counted it out and they rolled over, Louis perched on top.

Harry thunked his head against the floor, hands sliding down to settle on Louis’ hips. 

“You really do have a problem controlling yourself, don’t you?” 

The chances were that Harry wasn’t capable of thinking clearly at all, but Louis sounded amused. He was clearly enjoying Harry’s pain.

“I can’t help it,” Harry said, voice strangled because Louis was _wriggling_. “You’re sitting on my crotch. Can you _please_ stop that?”

But Louis was already rising, the pressure lifting off Harry’s crotch. The amount of blushing he did around Louis could probably set some kind of record.

“I won,” Louis announced, magnanimous and unfairly beautiful as he stood over Harry with his damp hair and honeyed skin. “I’m also hungry.”

So was Harry, just not for food.

He wondered if he wanted Louis so much only because he couldn’t have him, but then… then he looked up to meet Louis’ eyes and saw the way the setting sun caught onto his eyelashes, casting shadows and painting him in hues of gold and thought… _no, it has nothing to do with that._

“Why don’t you… why don’t you go take a shower and I’ll get started on it?”

_Why aren’t you mine?_

“You’re not the boss of me,” Louis said, but proceeded to leave Harry lying there on the floor with an unfortunate boner and aching heart anyway.

Maybe they could be friends. Nothing more. Just… friends. Harry was going to draw a line.

It was better than nothing.

****

Louis in the kitchen was more of a detriment than a help, but Harry didn’t want him to leave anyway. Even if he’d almost cut his finger when he’d got distracted by Louis sucking maple syrup off his thumb.

“I can’t believe you don’t know how to whisk,” Harry complained, determined not to mention Louis had a spot of flour on his cheek.

“That’s what our cook is for, Harold.”

“You would never survive in the wild.”

Louis hopped up on the counter, legs crossed at the ankle, looking for all the world like he was sitting on a throne. He was insufferable and Harry refused to indulge him more than he already had.

“And that’s where you’re wrong. I’d get someone else to do the work for me. That’s what smart people do.”

Opening a bottle of wine after they finished eating pancakes was probably a bad idea but it didn’t stop them anyway.

****

Louis felt loose-limbed and warm and sated and he knew it was a dangerous combination but he was still sitting here next to Harry on the living room sofa, documentary about penguins playing in the background.

He shouldn’t be letting Harry in like this. He wasn’t Zayn.

“So you failed your first year?” Harry asked, chin propped up on his bent knees and body turned towards Louis. The TV lights flickered over his face. Neither of them could be bothered to get up and turn the lights on.

“I’ll have you know my father very generously donated to the university.” Louis tipped the bottle of wine towards his mouth and took a sip. “I couldn’t have failed if I tried.”

“You’re a fucking spoilt brat, you know that?” Harry caught Louis’ wrist, tugged the bottle towards his own mouth. Louis wondered if Harry would taste bittersweet now, if his tongue would taste like sunshine and grapes if Louis kissed him deep. 

“Never said I wasn’t. I like having money. Makes life a lot easier.”

Louis glanced down on the point of contact, licked over his lips as Harry loosened his hold, fingertips still pressing into Louis’ jittery pulse before he let go.

He looked… sad, oddly enough. 

Louis resisted the urge to tuck a stray curl behind Harry’s ear and see if Harry would turn into his touch.

“You’re lucky, you know,” Louis said, already regretting it. “You can do whatever you want. You’re not… not trapped.”

“Neither are you,” Harry said quietly. “Nobody’s making you do anything you don’t want to do.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Do you at least,” Harry pointed between them, “do you at least want to do this? Like, helping me?”

Louis leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes. He hadn’t had nearly enough to drink, yet his defenses were dropping one by one. He’d always talked easier in the dark, could pretend it wasn’t as real. “I do. It’s like, I love music. Even if this isn’t how I imagined I’d be involved in it, I want to… I want to help you make it, because you bloody well deserve it, all right?” He added, more quietly, so quietly he doubted Harry could even hear, “I don’t know if I can though.”

When he opened his eyes, Harry was dangerously close, edging into his personal space. “I do. I know you can. Because you _care_. About the music. My music.”

All Louis could hear was the cadence of their breaths, Harry’s sweet smell tickling his nose. “You might be the only one.”

“Don’t care. I believe in you. Know you’ll at least try your best for me. Right?”

“Right.” Louis’ heart leapt up to his throat. He ducked his head, thumbing over the rim of the bottle, fumbling for something more to say and failing. He didn’t remember the last time anyone besides Zayn had told him they believed in him. 

The words tumbled off the tip of Louis’ tongue before he could choke them back, “I might fuck up, you know. It’s what I do.”

“That’s okay. Everyone does.”

“You’re too,” Louis finally said, shaking his head, a forced smile twisting his lips into a grimace as he gripped the bottle. “Too _nice_. They’re going to chew you up and spit you out.”

“Did you just call me nice?”

“Is that what you’re taking away from what I said?” He was so different from Louis it wasn’t even funny, and yet. Yet Louis liked that, felt strangely protective of the naivety Harry still seemed to hold. 

“Yes?” Harry smiled lazily, hugging his legs and relaxing into the sofa even more. “You just paid me a compliment. I think hell is freezing over right this moment.”

Louis poked Harry’s calf, biting down on his smile. This was unacceptable. “I so did not pay you a compliment. It’s more of a detriment in this line of work, Harold.”

“No, it’s not. I’m going to prove you wrong, you just wait and see,” Harry said on a yawn, his lids dropping shut.

Before he could even talk himself out of it, Louis set the bottle of wine down behind the sofa and stretched out to grab the blanket folded up in the armchair. He tucked it around Harry’s sitting, curled up form, grateful it was dark enough in the room. Maybe this way he could pretend he hadn’t just acted like a mum. “You should go up to bed.”

“I’m awake,” Harry said, eyelids fluttering open. “Thank you.”

Louis squirmed under Harry’s sleepy scrutiny, snorting to save face. “If you fall asleep here, I am not hauling your ass up, just so you know.”

“The penguin documentary hasn’t even finished yet,” Harry mumbled, as though that was the whole point.

Louis put his feet up on the coffee table and rubbed his chest absentmindedly. It didn’t make all those feeling culminating inside any better.

Harry had wriggled too deep under his skin for Louis to just ignore this anymore. And he didn’t _want_ to. Didn’t want to turn away and pretend there was nothing between them. 

“Yeah.”

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important stuff shall happen in the next chapter. Important, I'm telling you.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously: Harry is a dirty, dirty voyeur, Louis would look sinful in nothing but blue short shorts and watching penguin documentaries brings people together.
> 
> Many, many thanks to Giselle!!

Somewhere between Harry’s awful penguin jokes and the end credits, Louis must have fallen asleep. The next thing he knew, the backs of his eyelids were painted bright yellow and his body was weighed down into the sofa cushions, one arm dangling off the edge, the other curled around something warm. Warm and _alive._

A smell of something sweet tickled his nose and he didn’t want to move, just inhaled and breathed out, craving vanilla cupcakes and raspberries, trying to stay in the not-quite-awake limbo for as long as he could.

The weight on his chest shifted, a puff of Harry’s breath hitting Louis’ collarbones before he went still again, and Louis knew he was fighting a losing battle. He opened his eyes, squinting against the sudden onslaught of light. 

He couldn’t even _move._

_Don’t act like you hate it._

Well, no, he didn’t. Even if sleeping on the couch was aeons away from being comfortable, which made it even worse. That he’d rather sleep on a sofa with no back support to speak of and only wide enough to barely fit one body than alone on his king-sized memory foam mattress upstairs.

He’d gone bonkers.

Harry was lying in the cradle of Louis’ thighs, sprawled over him like an unmovable human blanket, soft curls brushing against Louis’ neck. He was fairly sure Harry had at some point drooled on his T-shirt. He would have been grossed out if he wasn’t already planning on giving Harry so much shit for it later.

Harry snuffled and rubbed his face against Louis’ chest like a cat. Louis resisted the urge to pet him, just kept his arm around Harry’s shoulders, limp and useless and awkward because he shouldn’t be doing this. 

He was just about to stir Harry awake when warm, damp lips grazed the hollow of his throat, too intentional for it to be an accident.

Louis had never been so weak for anyone in his entire life.

He fisted the back of Harry’s T-shirt, the cotton soft and thin under his hand, breath hitching in his chest when teeth scraped over his throat. 

“H—”

Harry sat up so quickly he toppled off the sofa with a pained grunt and flailing limbs.

“Christ, careful there—”

“Fuck, I’m,” Harry said, voice rough and gritty and it was doing absolutely nothing to Louis. Nope. Nothing at all. That was just his regular morning wood. “I forgot. I… I’m so sorry.”

Forgot what?

“Pal, I literally had your cock in my ass. We’ve done worse.” 

Somehow, sleeping with Harry wrapped up in his arms, soft and vulnerable felt far more intimate than anything else they had done. Louis wasn’t going to acknowledge this. Not right now.

Harry righted himself, settling by Louis’ feet, eyes puffy with sleep and a crease in his cheek. He wouldn’t meet Louis’ gaze as he said, “That was before… I mean. We shouldn’t.”

_We shouldn’t._

It wasn’t supposed to make Louis’ heart sink. 

“You have an eye booger,” Louis pointed out, very satisfied with his deflection, sitting up too because he felt too vulnerable being the only one lying down.

Harry slapped his hand over his face then seemed to have thought better of it and lifted the edge of his T-shirt to wipe at his eyes. Louis couldn’t quite handle seeing Harry’s abs so early in the morning. Not when he could still smell Harry on his clothes.

“You could have brained yourself on the coffee table, you know,” Louis said. “Gotta be more careful.”

“Aww, are you _concerned_ , Louis?”

Harry was a little shit. Louis was not having it. “Well, yeah. It was a rather expensive coffee table.”

Harry grabbed Louis’ ankle lightning quick, pulling hard, and Louis was scrambling, arm shooting out to clutch the back of the sofa to keep from sliding completely off to the floor, his leg kicking out on reflex.

Harry smoothed his thumb over Louis’ Achilles heel, the corner of his mouth tipping into a rather evil smirk. 

“Don’t you fucking dare, Styles.”

“Dare what?” Harry dimpled at him, his hold too strong to break out of. 

Louis was really fucking ticklish. This was not—

“This?” Harry asked, running a fingertip down the sole of Louis’ wriggling foot.

“No!” He kicked out more desperately, choking back a bark of laughter, heat rushing to his face. He was still goddamn hard. This was not happening. “I’m going to… going to—”

“Yeah?” Harry prompted, pinning Louis’ feet together so he could hold onto them both because he was clearly a sadistic bastard and Louis was going to _murder_ him. “What are you going to do, Louis?”

Louis was about to rain verbal abuse on him when Harry started tickling Louis’ feet. He started laughing so hard he couldn’t even draw a proper breath, never mind speak. Harry was cackling like a hyena, and once Louis managed to push him off he’d better run for his sorry life.

“Har—”

“I can’t believe the mighty Louis is _ticklish_.”

Louis let out a particularly embarrassing squeak that spurred Harry on to laugh even harder and loosen his grip. Louis could feel his bum about to slide off the sofa, his laugh turning into a startled cry.

Harry let go of his ankles and launched forward to catch Louis from falling, hands steady on Louis’ hips, helping him shuffle back onto the sofa. They both realized at the same time that Harry’s thumb was grazing the tip of Louis’ undeniably hard cock, curving all the way to his hipbone.

Their eyes met, widening, their breath still fast and shallow.

Louis bit down on his lip and fought back the urge to whimper because Harry wasn’t moving his thumb and the pressure was starting to make Louis sweat.

A key turned in the lock of the front door and right before Louis heard the door open Harry pulled away so fast his back hit the edge of the coffee table.

Harry cursed and Louis reached out before he realised what he was doing and dropped his hand.

“You all right?” he asked instead, taking in the way Harry was grimacing. He’d noticed Harry rub his back on more than one occasion and this looked like it must have hurt.

Funny how _that_ was making Louis’ cock slowly flag down.

Soft footfalls drew his attention back before he even heard the familiar voice, half amused, half curious as it asked, “Am I interrupting something?”

“No!” Harry said, frantic and looking very much like he was about to be led to the gallows. 

Zayn could be intimidating, but not _that_ much. But maybe that was because Louis had seen him cry during Bambi. Not that Louis hadn’t, but that was beside the point.

“O-kay,” Zayn said, quirking his eyebrow at Louis in his wordless way of _you and I are going to talk later and I am not letting you go off easy_. “Hi? We’ve met before, I think. You’re the—”

“I didn’t know you were coming,” Louis jumped in, scrambling to sit up and inconspicuously placing the nearest throw pillow over his lap. Zayn already had enough ammunition to add to it witnessing Louis’ awkward semi-boner as well.

From the way Zayn’s gaze flicked down to Louis’ crotch, Louis hadn’t quite succeeded. He should have worn boxers.

“I rang your phone like ten times, loser. You weren’t picking up.”

“Oh.” He blinked, remembered he’d left his charger at home. “Yeah, I think it died. I didn’t bring my charger. Sorry.”

Zayn settled himself down next to Louis, clearly lapping up the awkward tension in the room, which. Harry looked like he was about ten seconds away from wishing he could turn into mist.

“This is Zayn,” Louis introduced, very aware he’d been really bloody rude and lacking in manners, but. Well. What else was new? “Zayn, this is—”

“Harry,” Zayn finished for him. “Right?”

Harry looked mildly shocked but shook himself out of it and nodded. “Yeah, yes. That’s… I’m Harry. Hi? I was just about to go clean up, I should leave you two to it—”

“Thought you might be about to go _strumming_ ,” Zayn said with a sly smirk and Louis’ jaw dropped.

He elbowed Zayn in the ribs, cheeks turning hot. He and Harry were matching. With Harry on his knees on the floor, Louis knew what it all looked like.

“I’m not, I wasn’t… we weren’t doing anything, I swear,” Harry said, speaking faster than Louis had ever heard him. Louis had better say something before Harry worked himself up to a premature heart attack.

“Zayn, stop being a twat. Harry, excuse my best mate, about to become former best mate if he doesn’t play nice. He thinks he’s being funny.”

“I was talking about music, you know. Not my fault both your minds are in the gutter.”

“Best mate?” Harry mumbled as Louis got off the couch, let the pillow fall to the floor.

“Afraid so,” Louis sighed and curled his fingers around Harry’s upper arm to help him get up. “Come on then. You didn’t hurt your back very bad, did you?”

Harry was glancing between them two, blinking, before his gaze settled on Louis’ hand on his arm. “I’m… I’ll live. Thank you.”

“You hit yourself pretty hard,” Louis argued, could feel Zayn’s gaze bore holes into the side of his face as he let his hand drop to Harry’s waist. Maybe he should check, see if it had bruised. “You sure?”

Some of the tension seemed to have flowed out of Harry’s body and he swayed into Louis’ touch for just a second before he tensed again. “Yeah.”

“If you say so,” Louis said, reluctantly dropping his hand. “What do you want for breakfast then? Coco Pops or Cheerios?”

“I could make eggs,” Harry offered, sleep-tussled curls framing his face. God, he was so striking. Louis kind of hated how much he wanted to cup Harry’s face and bite his plush bottom lip.

“Eggs Benedict?”

“Sure,” Harry said.

It wasn’t until Zayn coughed that Louis realised he and Harry weren’t the only people in the room.

****

“Stop it.” Louis threw a pillow at Zayn’s face because he was doing that wordless thing again, quietly judging Louis’ every life choice. Louis flopped over his lap just so he wouldn’t have to face him, glad Harry was upstairs in the shower and out of earshot.

“Mate.”

“No.”

“Lou.”

“Nope.”

Zayn sighed. Louis wondered if today was the day Zayn would beat his own record at being Louis-exasperated and sigh more than twenty times per hour.

“You _like_ him.”

“What are we, in elementary?” Seriously. Louis didn’t need this. Not when he couldn’t even sort out his own feelings.

“Seeing as I knew you in elementary, I’d say this is even worse.” Zayn’s hand rubbed up and down Louis’ spine because he knew Louis’ weak spots and knew just the way to soften the blow. Louis refrained from reminding Zayn of those few weeks back in elementary when Zayn had picked a twatty upperclassman over him. They’d made up as quickly as they’d fallen out. Forgiven and forgotten, and all that. 

Nothing in life was ever easy, was it? Not the things that could be worth it.

“Even if I did like him, what’s the point, Zayn? We work together, I can’t—”

“Not saying you should. Just… if it happens, it happens. Don’t fight it, you know? Some things are meant to be and some aren’t, but you won’t know until you try. If it doesn’t work out, you can always ask your dad to get you to work for someone else. It wouldn’t be the end of the world.”

“You were spending too much time with Yaser again, weren’t you?” Louis deflected, knowing Zayn had a penchant for inspirational speeches after he and his father had hung out for too long. 

_It wouldn’t be the end of the world._

“That’s beside the point.” Zayn patted Louis’ bum. “Now get off, my legs are growing numb.”

Louis didn’t move an inch, letting his body go completely limp on top of Zayn. He could deal with it.

****

Harry couldn’t deal with the awkward tension. Maybe he was just imagining things, but he could feel Zayn watching him with steady focus even though Harry’s back was to him as he made breakfast. Zayn was beautiful and just a little intimidating, quiet as if he was expecting Harry to speak.

He tried not to make a knock-knock joke. As he’d been told more than once, they weren’t as good of ice-breakers as Harry thought.

By the time Louis had gone off to shower, Harry had already started on the eggs, so he could hardly make up an excuse to disappear for at least an hour. He couldn’t believe Louis would leave him to the mercy of his best mate, which… best mate. Not a lover or a boyfriend or anything other than a platonic friend. Harry really should stop jumping to conclusions.

“I’m sorry for being a dick,” Zayn said out of nowhere.

Harry almost dropped the wooden spoon on his foot. “It’s, um… you weren’t?”

“Yeah, I was. I do that sometimes. Guess that’s why I’m friends with Louis.” Zayn chuckled. “We can both be dicks, but… guess we just got used to it. Don’t let it get between us.”

Harry wasn’t sure how to reply to that, feeling like there was more that Zayn was waiting to say. “That’s what friends do, isn’t it?”

“He’s like a brother to me,” Zayn said, serious and calm. Harry felt strangely threatened anyway. “I’d never want to see him get hurt. Not if I can help it.”

Definitely being threatened.

Before Harry could even open his mouth, a hand was clasping his shoulder and _what the fuck_. He’d never even heard Zayn move.

“You wouldn’t either, would you, Harry?” The hand clasped tighter.

“No, of course not, I’m… I mean—”

“Good talk,” Zayn said curtly and let go. “Tell Louis I had to go. I’ll call him later.”

Funny how even though Zayn looked like someone people could stop on the street just so they could take a picture of him, if given a choice Harry would pick Louis over him in a heartbeat. 

He was fucked, basically. 

“I will.”

It wasn’t until he heard the front door close that he let out a shaky breath.

****

He’d never meant to eavesdrop.

Still, his feet halted a short distance away from the open door to Louis’ bedroom when he heard, “I did it because unlike you, I actually care. It wasn’t a good fit at all.”

_Stop standing here like a bloody thief and—_

“No, it wasn’t reckless. Will you ever stop fucking treating me like I’m stupid? Julian has been doing a far better job than Morris ever could, and if I had to make the choice again, I’d do the exact same thing.”

_\-- they’re talking about me._

Harry bit down on his lip, feeling awful that he’d inadvertently put Louis in this position. That Louis had to now field unfair criticism. Julian was better. And like, if Charles didn’t see how hard Louis was trying, he’d never deserved to even have Louis in his life in the first place. 

“Whatever,” Louis said, breathing out an empty laugh. “Not like I expected anything else from you.”

Harry swallowed hard, heard the bed frame creak and then… silence.

He waited for a beat, then two, before he moved forth again, rapping his knuckles against the doorframe.

Louis looked up from where he sat on the bed with his head in his hands, putting on a mask of indifference. It was too late. Harry had seen it. He kind of wished he hadn’t. Not when Louis clearly didn’t want him to.

“Breakfast is ready,” Harry said, fighting the urge to reach out and… do something. Seeing Louis so small and resigned and close to upset was messing with the very fabric of the universe. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

“Not very hungry,” Louis said, his smile strained. It never even reached his eyes. Not like it had in the morning when he’d laughed so hard his eyes squinted shut.

“But it’s eggs. You can’t reheat them. That’ll taste disgusting.” He just didn’t want to leave Louis here, shut away and picking over the conversation over and over again. 

“Sorry I had you make it.”

Harry shifted his weight, the words teetering on the tip of his tongue before they finally tumbled out. “What’s wrong?”

He knew the answer, but he never wanted Louis to know he’d been caught at his weakest with Harry a few feet away. If he wanted to talk about it, Harry wanted to give him a chance.

“Why would you ask that?” Louis picked at the non-existent lint on his joggers, his hair still damp from the shower. 

Harry crossed the threshold, feeling awkward just standing here, hovering over Louis in the space that smelled vaguely like him. Like fresh laundry and expensive cologne. “No reason. Just…” He reached out his hand. “Come on then. If you’re not hungry, you can watch me eat. You really don’t want to leave me to my own devices. I might… do stuff. Like drink all your good tea.”

“There’s at least ten boxes, you know. I actually dare you to.” He stared at Harry’s offered hand with a touch of mistrust.

“You don’t think I can?”

Louis snorted. “Definitely not.”

Harry wriggled his fingers. “Don’t leave me hanging.”

“I don’t need you to help me get up. I’m very much able to do it myself,” Louis said, but put his hand in Harry’s anyway.

His palm was a little chilly, a little clammy. Harry said nothing, just wrapped his fingers around Louis’, palm to palm, and pulled him to his feet.

Their toes bumped. Harry rubbed his thumb over the back of Louis’ hand, his heart beating high in his throat. _I would treat you so well._

“Right then,” Louis said, letting his hand slip out, his gaze skittering away. Before he could take even one step, Harry lost control of his limbs and his sanity and was pulling Louis into a hug.

He stiffened in Harry’s arms, his heart pounding so hard Harry could feel it against his own chest.

“What are you doing?” Louis asked, guarded but not pushing Harry away.

Harry just wrapped his arms more tightly around Louis and pressed his cheek against Louis’ still damp hair. He’d gone and made a tit of himself already anyway. He might as well not do it half-arsed. 

“Haven’t hugged anyone today. You were here, so…”

Louis’ chest expanded on a disbelieving laugh, his body relaxing just a bit. It wasn’t nearly enough, but it was a start. Harry didn’t like the way Louis had looked like he had the weight of the entire world pressing down on his shoulders, and Harry’s mum always said that good hugs could lift that better than anything.

Harry had always prided himself on being an excellent hugger.

He rubbed Louis’ back, tucking his face against Louis’ temple, wrapping Louis up completely without an inch to spare, closing his eyes because Louis was warm and smelled fresh-out-of-shower and Harry wasn’t quite ready to let go.

“Fuck, you’re so weird,” Louis mumbled but he finally returned the embrace anyway, his arms tentatively looping around Harry’s waist.

“I prefer quirky.”

He’d never stopped stroking up and down Louis’ back slowly, could feel Louis relax into him more and more until he was leaning into Harry’s body completely and his chin was hooked over Harry’s shoulder like he belonged there. It shouldn’t feel like Harry had found a part of himself that had been missing.

The second he pressed his lips to the spot behind Louis’ ear, he knew he was edging way past friendly. It wasn’t even sexual, was the thing. Just… he wanted to be closer, somehow. Let Louis know Harry had his back too.

Louis smelled sweet and his skin was _softsoftsoft_ under Harry’s lips, fingertips pressing into Harry’s back as he sighed so quietly Harry would have missed it if he hadn’t been close enough to feel every rise and fall of Louis’ chest.

He kissed the spot one last time then nuzzled it, pretending he hadn’t felt the way it made Louis shiver.

“Harry,” Louis murmured, pulling away. “We should… we don’t want those eggs to go cold, do we?”

Harry loosened his hold, a little drunk on being so close for so long. He was becoming an addict. “Lead the way then.”

The corner of Louis’ lips quirked up before he slipped away on light feet, throwing, “come on then, don’t dawdle,” over his shoulder. 

Harry just smiled and followed right after.

****

To say Harry was exhausted would have been an understatement. He and Julian and Niall had been at it for hours and his throat had started to feel a little raw, so they’d switched over to work on lyrics instead after they’d recorded a few songs.

Louis had come in a little while ago, sitting on the floor cross-legged and sipping tea.

Harry eyed the hot beverage with longing, wondering if there was honey in it.

“Go get your own,” Louis said, arching his eyebrow.

Harry pouted. “Can’t I have a sip? My throat hurts.”

“That’s because you don’t have proper vocal training. I’ll sort that out tomorrow.”

Harry pointedly ignored Niall’s questioning look and instead stepped up his pouting.

“Oh, of fuck’s sake,” Louis muttered, reluctantly offering his mug. “I’m gonna catch your hipster cooties.”

Harry refrained from pointing out he’d had Louis’ tongue in his mouth more than once and took the mug before Louis could change his mind. It was black tea with milk in it and it felt a lot like peace offering. It slid down Harry’s throat like a balm.

He closed his eyes and hummed appreciatively before he handed it back. 

“You could have taken more than one sip, you know. Not like I would have stopped you.”

“It’s all right. Thank you.”

Nobody said anything but Harry could feel Julian glancing between them, quietly observing. It made Harry feel transparent and more than a little ashamed.

“I can’t figure out the last line,” Harry said, trying to take the attention away from his obvious pining. “It just doesn’t sit right.”

And it wasn’t Niall or Julian who came up with the right thing to say. It was Louis, speaking up a bit quieter than Harry would have expected, a bit like he was waiting for them to laugh him off and say his idea was shit.

It wasn’t. It was exactly right.

****

The sky outside was tar black and Harry lay on his temporary bed in nothing but his boxers, star-fished and blinking up at the ceiling. He was tired, but sleep was eluding him. He never slept well when he wasn’t being held.

The door creaked open and he turned his head towards the sound, surprised but staying put, his limbs too heavy for him to sit up.

“Something wrong?” Harry asked, watching Louis’ hands tug at the bottom of his T-shirt.

“Nah. Can’t sleep.” He leaned against the doorjamb, as though unsure if he could enter or not, which was just silly. Not like this was actually Harry’s room. Not like Harry didn’t want him to. Then again, right now he was wanting a lot of things he shouldn’t be wanting.

“Me neither,” Harry admitted. “Entertain me?”

“You’re the guest I so graciously let stay here. I think you’re the one who should be entertaining me. Fulfilling my every whim and all that.”

Harry would quite like to fulfill Louis’ every whim, though in a very different way than Louis had meant it. He didn’t voice that out loud, hoping Louis hadn’t caught the twitch in his pants.

“Too tired to move.”

“Oh, sorry. I should leave you to it.” Louis shouldered off the doorjamb, already taking a step back. That’s not what Harry meant. 

“No, don’t,” Harry said quickly, strangely relieved when Louis stayed in place. He shouldn’t want Louis to be so close. They’d cut each other down more than once and they were working together now. Even knowing that, he still said, “Please stay.”

“All right, kitten,” Louis said, cheeky as if he was baiting Harry. “Since you’re asking so nicely. You’re quite lucky to spend time with me. Everyone says I’m a delight to be around.”

It wasn’t even funny but Harry giggled anyway, as if he was ten years old again and crushing hard. “I know for a fact that it’s not always true.”

And like, Harry had been teasing, but Louis paused in the middle of the room, his brows furrowed. “I’m sorry for what I said, you know. Not for like, everything, because you deserved some of it for being a little shit to me too, but… I didn’t mean it. What I said about you being the same as everyone else. You’re not. You’re going to make it. You’re… you’ve got something special.”

He said it with such certainty it left Harry speechless, his chest as light as if he’d inhaled helium.

Louis laughed, almost sheepish as he dropped Harry’s gaze and looked around the room instead. “This used to be my room. It’s got a great view, doesn’t it?”

A great view? Did Louis think he was being subtle in his sudden change of topic?

Harry let him get away with it anyway. He couldn’t stop thinking of _this used to be my room_ , mind shooting back to the journal tucked away in the back of the shelf. And he wondered… 

“Did you ever, like… wanted to do music? Like write stuff?”

Louis tensed, as he always did when Harry touched on something too personal. Sometimes he reminded Harry of those puffer fish who shot out sharp spikes when something threatened them. Maybe more of a hedgehog, actually. With sharp spikes and a soft underbelly.

“Just, today… I like what you came up with, is all,” Harry hurried to add, not wanting Louis to feel like his privacy had been invaded. Harry hadn’t known. If he had, he’d have left the journal alone.

“I’m not good at it.” Louis sounded so sure. Harry didn’t get it.

“You are though.”

Louis stayed silent, his feet stirring into motion again.

He sat down on the mattress right next to Harry’s side, staring down at him.

“I’m… since when do you have a tattoo?”

Harry startled and looked over at his inner arm on instinct. It was just an outline of a star. He’d like to get it in filled in one day. “A year, maybe? You didn’t notice?”

“Wasn’t really paying much attention to your inner arm when I had you naked.”

Harry’s cheeks burned. 

“I’d have expected you to have loads more, now that I think about it,” Louis said, not nearly as fazed as Harry was. “You artist typed tend to do that.”

“I want to.” He had pages in his notebook dedicated to all the things he wanted inked into his skin. Some of them he hadn’t got because he hadn’t met the right person to share them with. And if he had, he wouldn’t have been able to pay for them anyway.

“Why don’t you then?”

“They don’t come cheap,” Harry said, a bit terse because money had always been a sensitive subject. He tried and tried but he never seemed to be able to save up enough to pay the tattoo artists he wanted to get them from. Not when he sent most of his spare cash to Mum, even if she’d tried to convince him he’d better keep it. He couldn’t. Not when she was in a bit of a rough spot and had been taking care of him all his life.

“Oh,” Louis said as though he’d never even thought of that. Harry was suddenly reminded they came from two very different worlds. “Well then, you can get as many as you want once your music comes out.”

“I might not. I might fail.”

“If you do, I’ll buy all your music myself.”

Harry knew Louis had meant it well, supportive even, but. “I don’t need your pity.”

Louis huffed, annoyed, his knee bumping into Harry’s side as he shuffled closer. “It’s not pity. I don’t pity people, trust me. I just like your music. Didn’t know it was a bloody crime.”

Harry flushed, turning on his side and staring at Louis’ knee. “Okay then. That’s all right.”

“Oh, all right, is it?” Louis twisted Harry’s curls around his fingers, those little bits right behind his ear, and tugged. 

“Would you get one? A tattoo?” Harry asked, closing his eyes again in spite of not wanting Louis to know his hair was his weak spot. 

Louis continued to play with his hair anyway, as though he already knew. “No. Definitely not. Don’t really like them that much. Or, well… I mean, they can look cool on other people, I think. Just not for myself.”

“You’re just scared it will hurt,” Harry teased, idly pulling at the fabric of Louis’ joggers. 

“I’m not scared of anything.”

“That’s a lie. Everyone is scared of something.” Right now, Harry was scared he’d never be able to shake the way Louis made him feel. That his skin would never quite forget the echo of Louis’ fingertips. That the second Louis would hear Harry’s song _Happily_ , he’d know it was about him.

“Maybe I’m an exception to the rule. I’m special like that.”

“You are,” Harry said, sincere. “I, um… I misjudged you, a bit. You’re more than what you want people to believe.”

“Don’t say that in front of Charles. He’ll change your mind in a heartbeat,” Louis said with a weak laugh. 

It needled at Harry’s skin, made him feel torn between angry on Louis’ behalf and angry at Louis’ for staying with Charles in the first place.

_You’re better than that._

****

“That’s… never mind.”

“What?” Louis demanded, his fingers stilling when he saw Harry biting down on his bottom lip as if he was physically trying to keep the words in.

“It’s so fucked up. You two.”

Louis felt his hackles rise, slid his hand out of Harry’s soft hair. He’d let himself get carried away. “It’s not… you have no right—”

“I know, I’m sorry. I just don’t _understand_.”

Harry sat up, legs folded under him.

“What’s there to understand?” Louis asked, gaze trained on the bedspread next to Harry’s foot so he wouldn’t have to see Harry judging him. “It is what it is.”

“I don’t get you. I don’t… you’re not as big of a prat as I thought you were. You’re… you’re witty and you try so hard and… You don’t have to stay with him just because of money or… _whatever_. He treats you like shit, but you stay anyway. I just don’t _get_ it. Don’t get why you’d stay. Or how can you just, like, not feel guilty about what we did. I feel fucking awful for even _wanting_ you.”

Louis’ head was swimming as though he’d drunk half a bottle of wine, Harry’s words making no sense at all. “Harry, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“You and Charles,” Harry said, voice gritty and low, like he was dredging it up from somewhere deep. “And your thing. Your whole… sugar daddy thing.”

Louis’ mind drew a blank. He felt like there was a brick wall in between the two of them and he just couldn’t seem to climb past and understand. “Can you stop calling him that? Just because he gives me an allowance—”

“Is that the only reason you’re with him, is that, like… does he know we slept together?”

Louis recoiled, his mouth dropping open and no sound coming out, even though he could feel his blood turn into fire, rushing fast and hot and angry. “With him?” Louis could barely hear his own voice, too quiet, a calm before a storm. 

He could hardly stomach to look at Harry’s pleading face. “I’m not… what? _With_ him? Like—” He shuffled back and crawled off the bed on trembling knees, shaking his head. “What the actual fuck? He’s my bloody father! I’m his son! We’re not—” He couldn’t even say it out loud. It made his stomach heave.

Harry looked like someone had slapped him, his face blank. “What?”

Louis didn’t know if he was angry or upset or just really fucking confused or all of it combined. He couldn’t stop shaking. “Is that what you think of me?” He laughed, hoarse and humourless. It hurt on the way out of his dry throat. “Is that who you really think I am? That I’d… that I’d just—” he dragged in a breath, his heart beating so hard against his ribs it was starting to hurt, “—that I would fuck some older dude for _money_? For… for a job?”

Harry looked shell-shocked the way Louis felt, his lips turning white under the harsh pressure of his teeth. Louis felt like he’d been stabbed in the back and the knife just wouldn’t come out.

_Is that what you think of me?_

“You thought I cheated,” Louis said quietly, his throat tight as he backed away from the bed, slid his gaze away from Harry’s face. “With you. _Twice._ ”

He heard the bed sheets rustle before he even spotted Harry’s bare feet in his line of vision, feeling the sudden urge to hit Harry, to hurt him the way Louis was hurting, because… because, “I can’t believe I…” _had feelings for you._

“Louis—”

Louis ducked Harry’s hand, pressed his lips together to keep it all in, to keep it bottled up, feeling a little sick at the thought of Harry touching him right now. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

Harry dropped his hand. “Louis, please, I—”

“You should go,” Louis heard himself say, heartbeat pounding in his ears. “I’ll call you a taxi.”

“No, L—”

“Don’t worry,” Louis said, finally meeting Harry’s eyes, walls snapping in place so high up he could barely even feel anything anymore. “I’ll pay for it. I’ve earned it, after all.”

The last thing he saw before he turned on his heel was Harry’s face crumpling.

Louis felt nothing at all.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRUTH CAME OUT AND FEELINGS GOT HURT... and quite possibly, so will I [ducks behind 2011 1d merch blanket available in stores still even now]


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously: Louis is ticklish, Harry gives the absolute best bear hugs and Charles is Louis' sugar daddy, just not THAT kind.
> 
> Beta'd by the ever wonderful Giselle.

Louis didn’t have his charger and his phone was dead.

He stared at the blank screen of his phone, hands still shaking. They couldn’t seem to stop.

_Was Harry right? Is this the kind of person I am?_

For one horrifying second he thought he might have to go back to Harry’s room and ask him to call the taxi from his phone. Then his brain kicked into gear and he was padding downstairs, not even bothering to flick on the lights as he wandered into the kitchen where the only landline in the house was pinned to the wall.

He called the information centre for a phone number and called the taxi in a strange kind of haze, not even realising he’d done it until he was hanging up. He felt too much, and he didn’t know how to deal with it.

He walked out of the house and over to the main gate, waiting for the headlights to show up. He’d told them on the phone his cell was dead but he’d be waiting right here.

It was almost stifling hot outside, the humid air clinging to his clammy skin, gravel sticking to his bare feet. He shivered and slipped past the gate, sitting down with his back against one of the brick walls flanking the carved iron bars of the gate.

Louis had never been a saint. He’d fucked up so many things in his life without a second thought and maybe that’s why… maybe that’s why Harry’s words settled in the pit of his stomach like boulders. Because he’d been trying to change, to be a better person. But maybe he hadn’t changed at all.

_I let him in, I thought—_

Thought what? That he’d finally found someone he could imagine being with? Eventually falling in love with? 

Louis choked back the hysterical laugh pushing its way out of his throat. He’d always known he was hard to love. He’d learned not to mind. Not even Mum loved all of him, and that was… fine. Okay. There was nothing Louis could do to change it. 

He still remembered that night back in London when home had felt so far away and he’d felt so bloody alone, stuck in the middle of nowhere, sharing dorms with boys who wouldn’t stop picking on him because he’d been smaller, more sensitive. He’d snuck out then, hopping on the tube with nothing but twenty quid and a little scrap of paper with his mother’s address on it in his pocket.

He’d been thirteen and crying when his mother had opened the door to let him in. She hadn’t let him stay. Not enough room, not with all his sisters around. 

The house had two stories. 

She’d taken him back to the dorms the next morning. And maybe that was when Louis had realised that if he didn’t stand up for himself, he couldn’t expect anyone else to.

Every year on his birthday she’d call to tell him she’d sent him a gift, not spending more then ten minutes on the phone.

It was… whatever. Louis didn’t need her. Didn’t need anyone. He’d just have to try harder. Be better. _For himself._

****

Harry stared blankly at the empty doorway, just… how could he have misjudged this so fucking bad?

His limbs felt too heavy when he finally moved, dressing up slowly, holding himself back from running after Louis. 

_He doesn’t want to see you. He wants you to leave him the fuck alone._

The way Louis had looked at him when the realisation hit, it… Harry had _hurt_ him. He’d never thought he even _could_. He felt like he’d swallowed a handful of lead and now it was sitting at the bottom of his stomach, refusing to budge.

_Good. You fucking accused him of sleeping with his own father. For money._

Harry stuffed his things into a duffel, throat tight. He had to explain, make this up to Louis, he couldn’t just… he couldn’t leave it like this, couldn’t let Louis think whatever he was thinking.

He needed to fix this, but right now he felt way too over his head. He didn’t know how he could possibly make this any better when his own mind was still reeling and Louis had shut him out, needing space.

With the duffel slung over his shoulder, he trudged out of the room on silent feet, feeling so out of place here right now it was making his skin itch. He had no spare money. Not enough to pay for a taxi anyway. He’d just… he’d hitchhike back home. 

It was dark outside but he didn’t trip once, pausing in front of the massive gate, determined to somehow climb over it. 

“What are you doing?”

Harry jumped and clutched the duffel with white-knuckled grip, his heart hammering.

“Louis—”

He’d never noticed him there, sitting by the gate with only a vague shape of his side visible in the darkness. He didn’t even look back, must have heard the gravel crunching under Harry’s feet.

“I’m…” _I’m so sorry._ It wasn’t good enough. It wouldn’t make this better, too empty to match the weight of Harry’s remorse. “I fucked up enough, didn’t I? I have no right to stay here.”

“I told you I’d call you a taxi.”

Harry wished Louis would look at him and feared it at the same time. “I can’t ask that of you.”

“So what was your grand plan then?”

“Um,” Harry looked down at his flip-flops, “was going to… climb over the gate and hitch a ride? Or walk.”

“Hitch a ride or walk,” Louis repeated, dry and almost mocking, all his walls up again. Harry didn’t realize how much Louis had let them down until he fucked it all up. “At night. In L.A. Are you _trying_ to get killed?”

Suddenly Harry felt stupid, a lot like a child being scolded for misbehaving. 

“You’re stupid.”

“I’m sorry.” The words scraped their way out of his tight throat. He wasn’t talking about hitchhiking. He’d been right. It wasn’t nearly enough.

Something beeped and then the gate was slowly creaking open.

Harry slipped through the slit wordlessly, hitching his duffle higher up on his shoulder, resisting the urge to sit down next to Louis and just… try to explain. Right now he’d only make everything worse.

“Taxi should be here any minute.”

They stayed quiet after that, the tension between them heavy enough to smother any words Harry might have wanted to say. 

Neither of them spoke until the headlights showed up, spilling bright yellow over the asphalt road.

“I’m not letting you pay for this,” Harry said, setting his jaw. He’d just… he’d borrow from Niall and Ella. It was all right. He’d pay them back.

Louis was finally getting up, dusting himself off and casting Harry a sidelong glance. “You’re not _letting_ me do anything. Get in the car.”

“Louis—”

“Harry, just,” Louis sighed, tired and small. “Just get in the bloody car, please. I don’t really feel like arguing right now.”

Complying made him feel even more awful, but he didn’t want to upset Louis any more than he already had. So he slipped into passenger seat and watched Louis pay the driver in advance, guilt gnawing at his stomach.

He’d make this better. He had to.

****

“Sorry, what?” Louis’s heart picked up as Karen looked at him calmly over her desk, oblivious.

“I said, can you please accompany Harry to the photoshoot in New York, take care of everything? I know it’s really short notice and I just came back last week, but I would really, really appreciate this. Also,” she leaned over the desk, smiling as if she hadn’t just asked for impossible, “I really want to start giving you more responsibility. The real stuff, not just paperwork. You’ve done so great while I was away, and what better client to set you up with than Harry? You’re already familiar with his marketing strategy and you set him up not only with a more fitting producer but also a vocal coach. Great job, Louis. Really. I’m proud.”

He’d been craving that kind of validation all his life. It should have felt… more. Maybe he was just off. He couldn’t say no. He refused to be ungrateful, to give up what he’d been working hard for. He could handle this. It was okay.

“Yeah, I’m… _Thank you._ ”

“I’ll give you a brief and everything,” Karen reassured. “And I’ll be on the phone if anything happens. I had Emma make the arrangements already. You only have to show up and look after the shoot. That’s all. If you handle it well, I’ll let you manage other things as well.”

“I’ll do my best.” He’d briefly seen Harry two days ago, met his gaze across the open office space, breaking it and walking away when he’d seen Harry make a hesitant step in his direction. “Thank you, really. I know Charles probably wasn’t very supportive of this.”

Louis wasn’t even that angry anymore. He was just… he didn’t know what he was feeling, exactly. Disappointed, maybe. Somehow, that was even worse.

“Psh,” Karen said. “I’m the one in charge of you. What I say, goes.”

The smile Louis gave her felt a little less strained.

****

If Louis had thought he’d be able to avoid Harry, he’d been wrong. So bloody wrong.

They might have arrived to the airport separately but their seats on the plane were right next to each other and there was nowhere to run.

He could see Harry shoot him these downtrodden glances when he thought Louis wasn’t looking, jerking in his seat every time their arms grazed as though Louis’ skin was charged with electricity.

Louis wasn’t sure how long he could keep this up. Because as hurt as he’d been, this tiptoeing around each other and the silence that hung on him like a rain-soaked coat wasn’t making anything better. Yet every time Harry opened his mouth as if to say something, Louis faced away and pretended not to see. 

What was the point in talking about this anyway? The more they’d talk, the more Harry would realize that he hadn’t even been that too far off the mark. Louis might not have been a cheater and a gold-digger but he was a trust fund baby who’d never even bothered to learn his lover’s name, so really. Was there any difference?

Ears buzzing with the sudden rise in pressure, he closed his eyes and pretended to sleep.

****

“And they’re going to have the wardrobe ready for you too, but I’ve looked through the storyboard and I don’t think it suits your image. Too preppy. I’d rather you wear what you packed yourself or we’ll get you something more you. Maybe even combine the two, actually.”

Harry knew this was Louis doing his job, anything personal strictly pushed into the back of his mind. Harry envied him that, wished he could do the same. 

“Okay.”

His fingertips ached with the longing to slide down the sharp edges of Louis’ cheekbones.

“Okay?” Louis lifted his eyebrow, looking like he was waiting for Harry to fight him on this.

“I trust your judgment,” Harry said, taking a hold of his and Louis’ suitcase, rolling them behind him towards the hotel, refusing to look at Louis at all. Just because he felt bad about fucking up didn’t mean he had any right to burden Louis with it too, not when Louis had made it more than clear that he wasn’t ready to talk yet.

Actions spoke louder than words anyway, and Harry planned to show Louis just how great a person Harry thought Louis was. Because he did. Because once he’d got to see below the surface, he’d been helpless to do anything else but _care._

****

This was a fucking disaster.

Louis could practically feel all his blood draining from his face as he stared blankly at the man at the reception desk.

“But we were supposed to have two rooms.”

“I’m really sorry, Mr. Tomlinson. The reservation was really last minute and we were already all booked up. You were quite fortunate to get this room as it is. I truly apologize, but there’s nothing I can do.”

“Well, maybe we can try a different hotel—” Harry started, unsure.

Louis took a deep breath, all too aware of the guests waiting in line behind him and Harry and the expectant look on the receptionist’s face wordlessly pressuring Louis into making a decision. 

The room was already paid for and if there was one thing Louis knew about New York, it was that if they didn’t take it, they’d end up sleeping on the streets. Getting a room anywhere else decent without a reservation would have been something akin to a miracle and he wasn’t willing to risk it because of his pride. Not during a summer rush.

“It’s fine. We’ll take it.”

Seems like Harry would have to sleep in the bathtub. Well, Louis was sure it was big enough.

_He’s got a bad back._

Fuck Louis’ life, honestly. He needed a reality check, needed to stop caring.

“I’m taking the bed,” Louis forced himself to say, ears tracking each Harry’s soft footfall behind him. 

“Okay.”

Louis felt anger seize his chest like a fist, because what the fuck was Harry doing agreeing with everything Louis said? He wanted Harry to yell and argue and be a little fucker and _make_ Louis talk so Louis could get angry right back and get this ugly feeling off his chest. 

It was like a festering wound.

He swiped the card and pushed the door open, not holding it for Harry even though he was carrying both their suitcases and Louis always brought too much clothing.

Harry didn’t even complain, just let out a surprised huff and managed to wrangle their stuff in.

_Tell me I’m being fucking rude._

“Where do you want me to put your stuff?”

Louis could cry. He needed to get away from Harry for just a minute, stop being surrounded by the sweet scent that always seemed to linger on his skin even if he wasn’t even within touching distance.

“Don’t care. I’m going out for a smoke.” He sidestepped Harry, drawing his gaze away from the broad line of Harry’s shoulders, the nape of Harry’s neck, bare and soft under his hair pulled up into a bun. 

Louis pulled the half-crushed packet out of the side pocket of his suitcase, grabbing the lighter he’d bought when they’d touched down too. His hands shook a little, his nerves stretched out and buzzing.

Ashes fluttered off the tip of the cigarette and stained the sleeve of his white Prada shirt. It didn’t even matter.

He needed space before he snapped.

He’d half expected Harry to follow him out, but he didn’t. Louis was both relieved and… not. The fresh air wasn’t nearly as calming as he had hoped and the nicotine only calmed him down for a minute before the nerves set in again after the last exhale of grey smoke.

The sun was slowly swimming towards the horizon, turning the sky blood red and pink and purple and maybe Louis could pretend he was watching instead of being scared to go back inside.

He ground out the fourth butt of the cigarette against the ashtray, humid air turning his palms sticky. He couldn’t keep this up forever. He was running out of cigarettes. 

The room was big and spacey, yet the second Louis stepped back inside he felt as if he was locked inside a cage that could barely contain him, forced to confront every feeling he’d been avoiding for days.

Harry was already curled up on the sofa too small for his body, knees tucked beneath his chin to fit his legs in, his back to Louis. His breathing was too fast for him to have fallen asleep, and Louis barely stopped himself from brushing Harry’s hair away from his face on his way to the bathroom. 

He needed to wash this day away.

****

Louis’ brain wouldn’t shut up long after he’d crawled under the duvet, and it wasn’t the bed’s fault. Actually, it was. It was too comfy and soft and smelled like fresh laundry and Louis could throw himself across it diagonally without even touching the bed posts.

Meanwhile, Harry was a vague shape across the room, fast asleep and looking like a human pretzel. The idiot hadn’t even taken the spare duvet from the closet.

_It’s not even cold._

Well, no, it wasn’t. But the AC was on and being wrapped up always made Louis feel nicer. Safer.

He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, pulling the duvet up to his chin. He refused to look at his phone to see how many hours he’d already wasted by lying here uselessly and failing to get some rest.

He’d called shotgun on the bed. Harry could have very well done the same. It wasn’t Louis’ fault.

Only, Louis knew Harry wouldn’t have done it anyway. He’d been walking around like a wounded puppy ever since they’d met up at the airport, wordlessly waiting for Louis to give him an opportunity to really talk. 

He wasn’t ready yet.

Louis huffed an annoyed breath through his nose and shoved the duvet to the side so he could roll out of bed. It barely even made a sound, the plush carpet muffling his bare feet padding towards the bathroom. 

He knew he was only delaying the inevitable. That he hadn’t got out of bed to just take a leak or look at his haggard face in the mirror.

It was just so he could finally get some bloody sleep. 

He was being selfish, basically, too tired to put up a fight. 

After he did his business and washed his hands, there wasn’t really much more pretending to be done. The sliding door of the built in closet opened easily, barely any rustle as Louis pulled a spare duvet off the higher shelf, forced to rise up on his tiptoes.

Had he been an asshole, he’d have filed a complaint about discrimination against people of average height. As it was, he crossed the room until he was standing over Harry’s curled up form. It was bordering on creepy, but he couldn’t help but look for a bit, even if it was too dark for him to see anything but vague outlines of Harry’s relaxed face.

He slept with his mouth open, arms tucked against his chest.

Louis knew from experience that Harry drooled in his sleep. The real crime here was that Louis hadn’t even made fun of him for it, would probably never get a chance now that they… _whatever._

He’d planned on just throwing the duvet over Harry and getting the fuck back to sleep, but his knuckles grazed Harry’s bare upper arm just to see. His skin wasn’t exactly cold, but it wasn’t that far away from chilly and Louis almost shook him awake just to yell at him for acting like some kind of martyr. That wasn’t going fix anything. Louis didn’t even know he wanted anything fixed. What was the point?

In the end, he just put the duvet over Harry’s body and angrily tucked in all the corners before returning to his own bed.

Sleep couldn’t come fast enough.

****

Harry woke up first, warm and dazed but cramped up so much he wasn’t sure he could unfold his limbs at all.

He turned on his back slowly, already knowing today was going to take a page straight out of hell when a sharp pain shot down his spine and settled into a dull ache that kept pulsing into the muscles of his back.

He definitely didn’t remember grabbing any cover for himself. The bed only had one. Maybe Louis… but he wouldn’t. But he must have. _Why_ would he?

After ten excruciating minutes, Harry managed to get off the couch and into the bathroom. He knocked his elbow into the doorframe and bit back the _fucking fuck_ ready to slip off his tongue.

God, he just wanted Niall. Or Liam. Or Mum. He wasn’t picky. Just… a warm hug would make everything better.

Harry had thought the whole thing over and over again and he’d only seemed to pick up more questions as he went. Why did Louis have a different surname? And accent? And… God, Harry had called Charles Louis’ sugar daddy right to his face, only now realising the real reason Louis had looked so uncomfortable.

Harry just wanted to make things better, wanted Louis to see it for what it was. A ridiculous string of misunderstandings that fell into each other in all the wrong places.

He wet the toothbrush with a sigh and vowed to survive this trip without making things any worse.

Once he was done brushing his teeth and showering, he stepped back into the main room, feeling decidedly out of place. He’d been kind of hoping Louis would have woken up to the sound of the shower but he was spread-eagled across the bed, arm curled around a giant pillow, deep asleep.

Was he supposed to wake Louis up? Should he let him sleep longer? But they should be leaving in about twenty minutes.

Harry approached him as he would a feral cat or a starving Niall; carefully and in the line of Louis’ eyesight.

“Louis?”

Nothing. Not even a twitch.

He tried it louder, clearing his throat.

Louis snorted and settled back in, nuzzling the pillow.

Harry’s knees bumped the edge of the mattress and he winced as he slightly bent over. His back wouldn’t forgive him anytime soon.

“Louis, wake up.”

His hair was soft and fluffy and all over the place and Harry’s stupid heart ached at the sight. It clearly didn’t know any better. Before he could talk himself out of it, he reached out and brushed a flyaway strand off Louis’ forehead, running his knuckles down Louis’ sleep-warm cheek. “Lou?”

“Hmpf.”

Harry was about forty percent sure he was about to have his hand bitten off, but he didn’t really know what else to do. He stroked down Louis’ cheek and combed through Louis’ hair gently, because that’s how Harry’s mum had used to wake him up all the time and old habits died hard.

“C’mon, Lou. Wake up. We’ve got to leave soon.”

Louis dragged in a deep breath and mumbled something that sounded a lot like, “Don’t wanna.”

Harry’s thumb brushed behind Louis’ ear and Louis turned his face into the pillow, his body melting into the mattress even more. 

“I can go on my own, it’s all right.”

“What,” Louis mumbled, voice hoarse as he finally lifted one eyelid. Harry could feel the second Louis’ body went tense as he realised where he was. Who he was with.

Harry pulled away and straightened back up so fast the back pain almost made him dizzy.

“I can go alone. To the shoot. I can take the tube.”

“No,” Louis said, already scrambling off the bed, his feet barely reaching the floor. “’S my job.”

It was pointless to argue. Louis had already put his armor back on.

****

He shouldn’t have let Harry sleep on the couch. He’d been petty. Even if there was still a part of him filled to the brim with resentment, watching Harry struggle to follow the photographer’s directions was making him feel like shit.

_This is my fault._

“Can you just… can you jump a little higher, please?”

Harry smiled and nodded but Louis could see the strain around his eyes, the fake tilt to his grinning mouth.

“Once more?”

Harry winced the second his feet met the ground again and Louis’ nails dug into his palms so hard it would probably leave bruises.

He’d promised himself he’d never let his personal feelings affect Harry’s career, and yet here they were.

“A little higher?”

“Do you mind if we try something different?” Louis cut in, approaching the photographer, ignoring the way Harry looked at him, shoulders slumping under the weight of his relief. As if Louis wasn’t the one who had fucked it all up. “He has a bit of a bad back, but he’s too polite to tell you.”

The photographer was in his mid-fifties, thin and scrawny, with balding hair graying around his temples. He was more than a little renowned, and if anyone had to suffer his wrath for this, it deserved to be Louis.

“We can take a little break,” the photographer acquiesced with a sigh, stepping away from his camera.

For a moment Harry just stood there, unsure, dressed in his own skinny jeans combined with the clothes Louis had had the stylist pick for him at Yves Saint Laurent based on Louis’ very specific instructions. He looked like something out of Louis’ feverish wet dreams. 

The stylist kept darting Louis dirty glances and he knew she’d been talking about him behind his back because he’d dissed her original concept, but he honestly couldn’t be arsed. He knew he’d made the right choice in this. 

Harry caught him staring, must have thought it was a good excuse to walk over to Louis for a chat, and Louis was fucked six ways from Sunday, basically. And not in the way he usually preferred.

“Thank you,” Harry said, so painfully sincere it made the guilt gnawing at Louis from the inside double in size.

“Don’t.” For a moment he just wanted to pull Harry close and rub up and down his spine until the pain went away. Too bad it wasn’t Louis’ place.

“But—”

“I think the break is over. I’ll fetch you some Tylenol as soon as we’re finished.”

Harry lingered, glancing over his shoulder at the photographer and then back at Louis. Louis made the choice for him.

He wrapped his fingers around Harry’s upper arm and gently nudged him towards the set. “No more jumps.”

“No more jumps,” Harry repeated, barely audible, chin tipped to his chest as he watched Louis’ thumb press lightly into his arm before Louis let go completely.

He needed to stop this… whatever the fuck he was doing. None of this was right.

The rest of the shoot went quickly and before Louis was even ready, the photographer was calling, “All, right, folks, good work! That’s a wrap for today.” 

It jolted Louis out of his thoughts. He blinked, jerking his gaze away from Harry, with his stupid Disney prince hair and a sheer, flower-print shirt that wouldn’t have worked on anyone else but did on him, as Louis had known it would.

Harry had to be an alien.

“Can we get something to eat?” Harry asked once he gathered all his stuff, standing a couple feet away from Louis and clearly missing the crestfallen expression of the photographer’s assistant when she’d lost his attention.

“We can get room service. Or stop by some place to grab something. Up to you,” Louis said, watching the tips of Harry’s worn out boots he’d changed back into and feeling a hot flush of embarrassment about having insulted them that day at the office weeks ago.

_I guess I know why he’d think that of me._

“Can we,” Harry started, drawing Louis’ gaze back up to his face, “can we go back to hotel? I’m… I’m a bit tired.”

“Sure.” Louis was feeling positively queasy with guilt by now.

“I think I’ve got blisters.” Harry laughed nervously then fell silent again, holding himself stiffly as they said their goodbyes and walked out of the studio. It was already growing dark outside. “The shoes were lovely though.”

“You can keep them. I told the stylist to mail it all to you to L.A.”

“But I thought—”

“They’re just clothes, Harry. I’ll bill the company for them. Or not. It’s not a big deal.”

“You can’t just do that,” Harry said quietly, almost… mad?

Louis unlocked the rental car and slipped in. It took Harry longer than expected to get into the passenger seat.

“You can’t just… you can’t just give stuff to me.”

Louis revved the engine, honestly baffled now. “If it’s about the money, it’s not a prob—”

Harry laughed, an empty breath of a sound. “Yes and no,” he folded his hands in his lap and looked out of the passenger window, “to you it’s spare change. To me it’s months and months of working my ass off. I don’t want to feel indebted—”

“I’m not asking anything back.”

“Well, why _aren’t_ you? I’m… why aren’t you fucking angry with me? Why are you just sitting here, and at the hotel and plane and you won’t say a word to me that actually matters, tell me how much I fucked up? Can you just—” he ran a frustrated hand through his hair, messing it up, “—just please. Just… I can’t bloody stand this.”

“You want me to yell at you?” Of course Harry would want Louis to yell at him. To be mean. Wasn’t that what Louis did best anyway?

“Anything would be better than this… this silent treatment and ignoring everything like it never happened. It’s all I can bloody think about, Louis, I’m so, so sorry—”

Then Harry’s fingers were curling around Louis’ elbow and Louis had to grip the wheel hard to stop himself from jerking it to the side. “Harry, I’m driving—”

Harry’s fingers lingered for a beat before he let go, breathing hard. Louis’ teeth itched with the need to light a cigarette. 

“Can we talk?”

“Not right now,” Louis said, molars aching with how hard he was gritting his teeth. 

The silent ride back to the hotel seemed to have lasted for days, and as Louis handed his keys to a valet, he knew he really was nowhere near ready.

****

Everything was already out of Louis’ hands the second Harry stepped out of the bathroom, hair damp and curling around his neck as steam rolled out behind him. He was barefoot, wearing boxers and a thin, worn T-shirt that had a hole on one shoulder. Louis hated how much he felt just seeing him like that.

“Louis,” he started, and Louis was tired. He was so fucking tired, still in his trousers and shirt as though they were his last defense. Still, even with Harry dressed like that, Louis felt like the one who was about to turn himself inside out, vulnerable and scared.

“What do you want from me, Harry?” He refused to see the way Harry’s face fell. 

“I’m… I just wanted to, to like, talk.” He sucked his lower lip into his mouth, gnawing on it, watching Louis as though waiting for him to figure this all out. Louis had no answers. He’d never wanted to talk about this in the first place.

“Well, here I am. Talk.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, his bottom lip a little swollen when he finally released it. “And I know that doesn’t mean much, but I am. I never meant to… I—everything just got so messed up. And it’s so bloody dumb, because, like—” he shook his head, damp curls falling into his face. Louis wanted to shave off all Harry’s hair, “It’s not even… It’s… everything just seemed to…” He stopped, frustrated with himself.

“For someone who wanted so badly to talk, you’re not off to a great start.”

He knew he got prickly whenever someone pushed him into a proverbial corner, but it had never felt shittier than now when Harry looked like it had got under his skin. Fighting with Harry had only been fun when Louis couldn’t truly hurt his feelings.

“You’re right,” Harry said, his feet turned in awkwardly. “I had a whole thing planned but now that you’re here, actually listening, it’s like… like I can’t make it work.”

He watched Harry sit down on the sofa, refusing to do the same. He might still run out of the hotel and not come back until Harry was sure to be asleep.

“If you’re looking for me to say it’s fine then… _fine_. It’s whatever, Harry. Now can we just forget about this all and go back to the way things were before?”

“It’s not fine,” Harry said, and Louis wished he would stop dragging this out, because Louis had forgiven him already. It had just showed Louis that he… he needed to try harder. 

Be better.

****

Harry’s stomach was knotted up with nerves and he couldn’t seem to find the right words to get through to Louis at all. He couldn’t seem to put his thoughts into anything resembling coherency and Louis was already looking as though he might flee any second now.

“I was so wrong about everything,” Harry said, mostly to himself, trying to sift through it all. “I never even thought, like… I just remember seeing you and Charles at work and he said something, and it was—”

“So you saw us at work and immediately thought I was fucking him? Cheers.”

Harry stopped short, because no. That’s not how it was. “He criticized the way you rolled up your shirt sleeves, and he said it like… it wasn’t something a boss would say. And it got to you, I know it did. But I never even thought… you have a different _surname_. And you’re… you don’t even have an American accent. Not like he does.”

“My mum’s English,” Louis said, clamping his mouth shut as though there was more he wanted to say but didn’t know how. Or didn’t want to. “And all this time I thought you resented me for the whole nepotism thing. It’s kind of funny, actually.”

Harry had never felt less like laughing. He _had_ resented Louis, and Louis had given it back to him right back. But that was before… before Harry had got to see beneath the surface. 

“In a way, you weren’t that far off the mark, were you?” Louis said, startling Harry out of his thoughts. “I never had to work for anything my entire life. I’ve always been an entitled prat. Fuck, I didn’t even… I never even fucked the same bloke twice, I—”

Harry looked up, his heart pounding. All he could see was Louis’ back to him. “I can see how you thought all that. I’m not mad, Harry. If that’s what you wanted to know, then here you have it. We’re fine.”

Nothing about this felt _fine_ , and Harry watched helplessly as Louis headed towards the door. “I’ll be back in an hour. Get some rest.”

Before Harry knew he was even doing it, he was up on his feet and following right after Louis. The door clicked shut behind him right as he called, “Louis, wait!”

Louis stopped and turned on his heel, incredulous, his finger slipping off the lift button. “Harry, what are you doing?”

“I just want things to be okay.” He wasn’t about to cry in the middle of the hotel corridor. He was _not_. He didn’t even know why it was getting so much under his skin. 

“I just told you—”

“I don’t believe you.”

Louis’ lips pressed into a harsh line and Harry was reminded of the Louis he’d first met. “That’s really not my problem, Harry. Go back to the room and rest for a bit. It’s been a long day.”

Harry’s head spun with how fast Louis co go from ‘go fuck yourself’ to caring. How his voice went soft as he said that last part. 

Harry forced his feet to move, closer and closer until he could smell Louis’ spicy cologne.

The lift pinged open.

A middle aged man stepped out into the corridor, glancing between the two of them, and Harry was suddenly very aware of how little he was wearing, how rough he looked.

The man seemed to have noticed too, staring at Harry’s bare legs without shame.

“Excuse you, mate,” Louis bit out and suddenly Harry was staring at the back of Louis’ head as Louis pulled him behind him by the wrist. The point of contact burned like an open flame. “This isn’t a bloody free show.”

The man grumbled but moved along, shooting them a backward glance before he disappeared in a room at the end of the corridor.

Harry’s heart was beating high in his throat. He wondered if Louis had noticed his thumb was rubbing circles into Harry’s wrist.

“Go back to the room, Harry. Please.”

“Not until you know I never meant to hurt you. That I think you’re… you’re someone I actually care about.” _Someone I might fall in love with, if you’d ever give me a chance._

Louis turned to face him, a resigned slump to his shoulders and fingers slipping off Harry’s wrist. He wanted them to touch again, needed it.

“What do I have to do to make you let this go?”

“Louis, I—”

“Why?” Louis looked up at him, so close he had to tilt his head back just a little. Funny how Harry often felt like he was the one looking up at Louis, even now. “Why does this bother you so much? We’re not… we work together, yeah, but. There’s nothing else.”

Harry felt the hurt of it needle into his bones and he swallowed hard, hands aching with how much he wanted to touch Louis right now. He’d never been good at keeping his feelings locked and separate from everything else and Louis had always been like a magnet, even when Harry hadn’t even liked him.

“Because I feel… because I feel something for you.” 

“Yeah, well,” Louis said, his gaze skittering away, “I’ve always been good at sex, so—”

“That’s not what this is.” Words lodged in Harry’s chest and he felt so much, like his chest might break open from the pressure of it any second. “You’re… you’re protective and strong and you stood up for me even though it put your job in jeopardy, and you’re sweet when you let yourself, like when you covered me up so I wouldn’t get cold, and I… Louis, please—”

“Harry, we shouldn’t—”

They were in the middle of an open space and Harry didn’t care if a hundred people flooded the corridor around them right now, because all he could see was Louis. All he cared about was making Louis see how _good_ he was. 

He swayed closer, leaned his forehead against Louis’, fully expecting him to pull back and shove Harry off. He didn’t. He tensed, but he didn’t move away, his exhale ghosting over Harry’s chin.

“I’m not asking you for anything,” Harry said quietly, helpless to stop himself from cradling Louis’ jaw. His stubble tickled Harry’s palm. “I just want you to _know_. Like, anyone would be lucky to have you. And I know how much you care about your job, and I don’t want to fuck it up for you, I just… I care about you. So, if you ever forgive me and we could at least be friends—”

“Harry,” Louis said, gripping Harry’s wrist loosely, pulling it away from his face. “We could never be friends. It’s far too late for that.”

And maybe he just imagined it, but Louis’ lips brushed over his, light and soft and a lot like _I’m sorry._

It wasn’t until Louis disappeared inside the lift, leaving Harry standing there barefoot and numb that he realised he’d locked himself out of the room.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More next week!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously: The hotel on their business trip only had one bedroom room (oops?), Louis angrily tucks Harry in when he's upset and 95% of all middle aged men are creepy (a survey conduced by me).
> 
> Big, massive, giant thank you to Giselle and all of you reading!!!

Twenty minutes. That’s how long Louis lasted before his feet carried him back to the hotel, the aimless walking around doing fuck all to calm him down.

Louis wanted to become someone better, more deserving, someone Harry would never have believed could cheat. He didn’t want to be Harry’s friend. Not when all he could think about was kissing Harry for so long their mouths would feel raw with it. 

That’s not what friends did. 

Louis walked into the lift and pressed the button, watched the floors climb up, barely aware of the people standing in the lift with him. They all stepped off one by one until he was the only one left.

No matter what he’d expected once he got off on his and Harry’s floor, it wasn’t this.

“Haz, you idiot,” Louis whispered, rushing over to the door and kneeling beside Harry’s dozing frame. Harry must have followed Louis out without taking his key card and Louis had to wonder how Harry had managed to survive all these years unscathed. Maybe Harry was just fine when he was on his own. Maybe Louis was the problem here.

“Harry,” he said, reaching out and pausing before he could touch. “Harry, come on.”

When he wouldn’t even stir, Louis cupped Harry’s shoulder and squeezed. “Wake up.”

His traitorous hand slid lower until his palm met Harry’s bare skin, thumb rubbing back and forth as though it had a mind of its own.

Harry slowly stirred awake, blinking up at him. 

“I forgot my card,” he rasped, the baritone of his sleepy voice catching on Louis’ heartstrings. 

“I’m surprised someone hasn’t called security yet,” Louis said, knowing he sounded a bit harsh, but… the idea of Harry being out here so vulnerable didn’t sit well with Louis at all. It didn’t matter that was a decent hotel or that it most likely had security cameras everywhere. He just… he didn’t like that.

“What time ‘s it?”

“I haven’t been out that long. Twenty minutes, tops.”

Harry rubbed the heels of his hand over his eyes and Louis looked away, had to breathe through the way it made him feel. “Up you go.”

He helped Harry up and ushered him inside, not missing the way Harry dug his knuckles into his lower back.

Louis wanted to push Harry onto the bed, straddle his hips and massage all the painful knots out until Harry felt better and Louis stopped feeling shitty for intentionally causing Harry pain in the first place. 

“I’m gonna clean up,” Louis said, not waiting for Harry’s response. He didn’t know why he’d told Harry in the first place. Why he was feeling as though he was standing on the precipice, all his muscles pulled taut like a bowstring, waiting and ready to snap.

Harry’s words wouldn’t stop running around his head over and over again.

_‘Because I feel something for you.’_

So did Louis, and wasn’t that a bloody joke? Maybe he needed to get it out of his system. For a brief moment Louis thought about it – but he knew that it probably wouldn’t work. Deep down, he didn’t _want_ Harry out of his system.

He walked out of the bathroom, dressed in boxers and a soft, loose T-shirt, the taste of nicotine washed out of his mouth.

“What are you doing?” Louis asked once he walked back into the main room, faltering.

Harry whirled away from where he was already half-kneeling on the sofa. “What?”

“You’re not sleeping there.”

Harry frowned down at the sofa as though it had personally deceived him. “Well, where else am I supposed to sleep?”

“Bed, obviously,” Louis said, turning the lights off. The moonlight filtering in through the balcony doors was too soft and it was hard to see Harry’s face properly anymore. “I’ll take the sofa.”

Harry was still hovering by the sofa, clearly torn.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you rubbing your back just now. Again.”

“Um—”

“I’m not letting you sleep on the bloody sofa again, all right? I shouldn’t have in the first place. I was… I was upset, but still…”

Harry ducked his head, and Louis had an awful feeling that he’d give up a lot of things if it meant Harry wasn’t in pain. 

“Why do you think I’ll let you sleep on it?” Harry asked.

“This isn’t up for discussion,” Louis said. “Get your arse into that bed, Harry.”

Harry fidgeted with the hem of his T-shirt, his profile nothing but a dark silhouette.

“The bed… it’s big enough.”

“No,” Louis said right away. He couldn’t sleep beside Harry as though it was okay. Louis couldn’t trust himself to keep his hands to himself.

“Louis—”

“That’s such a bad idea, Harry, and you know it.”

“Well then I’m not sleeping in it either. I’ll just… sleep on the floor.” He took the pillow and duvet off the sofa, stubborn as a bloody mule.

“Don’t be a fucking child.”

Harry huffed but didn’t say a word, just spread the duvet out on the floor as if he was proving a point.

“Are you trying to blackmail me?”

Harry curled himself around the pillow, looking small in the middle of the floor. “No. But it seems like it’s either both of us or none of us.”

Louis wanted to grab Harry and shake some sense into him. What was he supposed to do now? This had never been a part of his plan. Give it to Harry to ruin it all and put Louis’ entire life arse over tits, sleeping arrangements included.

“Bloody… fine,” Louis said, gritting his teeth as he made his way towards the bed and sat down on it with a lot more force than was necessary. He didn’t like being beaten at his own game and Harry very well knew Louis was already feeling guilty enough for letting him ruin his back by sleeping on the tiny sofa. No way he was about to make it even worse. “Are you happy now?”

“No,” Harry said, getting up from the floor, the duvet dragging behind him. “We’re adults, Louis. We can… we can sleep in the same bed without, you know. Stuff.”

“Stuff,” Louis snorted, biting down on his laugh. He didn’t want to laugh right now. “How very adult of you.”

When Harry climbed into bed and settled down on his back with a soft sigh, Louis definitely wasn’t laughing anymore. His skin felt like livewire. It was dumb. Nothing was going to happen. He wasn’t going to cuddle up to Harry and kiss his way up his neck, no matter how much he wanted to.

“We can,” Harry said, turning on his side to face Louis’ sitting form, “put pillows between us. Like a barrier. If that will make you more comfortable.”

Louis resented the idea of being uncomfortable. Or, well, Harry being aware of it.

“No. As you said, we’re both adults here. It’s fine.” He lay down and turned to face the wall, already knowing it would take him hours to fall asleep, fighting the pull of Harry’s body so close to his own that he’d only need to reach out and touch.

Would that be so bad? If Louis just took what he wanted and got it over with one last time before he drew the line?

He punched the pillow under the guise of fluffing it up, busying his restless hands. He wanted to turn around and curl his arms around Harry’s waist, pull him in and cuddle into his body until there was no space left. The anti-allergenic pillow was a poor substitute.

“I would have thought you’d hog the bed,” Harry said and it took Louis a while to realise Harry was talking to him. 

It was a fair point. Louis usually did.

“You’re about to fall off the edge there, Lou.”

He wished Harry didn’t call him that. Not when it made Louis feel things.

“Are you watching me?”

“Sorry.”

Louis sighed, deep and weary and very much aware of Harry’s gaze now, even though Harry probably couldn’t see anything but a lump under the covers. Louis usually slept half on top of them too. Well, circumstances and all.

“I swear I’m getting allergic to that word.”

“Sorry?” Harry tried, and Louis could almost hear the cheeky smirk in his voice. He resisted the urge to turn around and whack Harry in the face with a pillow.

“Sleep, Harry.”

“Bossy.” 

The covers rustled as Harry moved around. Maybe he was finally going to let Louis pretend he wasn’t even here, and that Louis was starting to get overheated under the covers just because he enjoyed being too hot.

“Are we leaving tomorrow?”

Or not.

“Yeah. We’ve got to get your suit first though. Karen’s friend is a tailor. He’s in the town right now, so she set it up for 9 am.” This was okay. This was strictly business. Louis could handle business.

“Why do I need a suit?” Harry asked, his voice a little drowsier, a little deeper. 

Louis wanted to turn around so bad. 

“Appearances. There’s some event in a few days, I think. Can’t very well go there in old jeans.”

“I like my old jeans.” 

Louis didn’t have to look to know Harry was pouting. “So do I, but… well—” Louis coughed, grimacing into the pillow. 

He needed to stop slipping.

****

Louis liked Harry’s old jeans. 

Harry almost asked if he liked the jeans only or the way Harry looked in them, but stopped himself. Not the time or place. 

“I’d never think you’d like them.” They were well worn and ripped at the knees and a far cry away from Louis’ perfectly fitted trousers he wore to work.

“We should get some sleep. We have to get up early tomorrow,” Louis said quietly and Harry just wanted to keep him talking because he loved the way Louis sounded so late at night. It was too easy to imagine having this every day.

Harry’s brain was growing fuzzier and fuzzier, and he just wanted to reach across the mattress and _touch._

“You covered me up. The other night,” Harry mumbled, eyes closed. “Why did you?”

After a moment of silence and shuffling, Louis said, “You seemed cold.”

“Isn’t that… why did you care?”

“Because you’re an idiot who can’t grab a bloody duvet for himself.”

Harry twisted the corner of the duvet around his fingers lazily, wishing Louis would turn around. “I didn’t know there was a spare one.”

“Every hotel’s got one,” Louis replied, voice muffled as though half his face was squished against the pillow.

“I didn’t know. I’ve only ever been to hostels. They kind of… like, what you see is what you get, I guess.”

“Oh.” The mattress dipped under Louis’ shifting weight and Harry opened his eyes to see Louis roll onto his back, his eyes closed. 

“Have you ever tried to eat the banana peel?”

“Can’t say I have.”

Harry didn’t understand why Louis was still indulging Harry without getting genuinely annoyed. “Well… don’t.”

“Noted.”

“Louis?”

“Yes?”

“Why do cats always land on their feet?” Harry rested his open palm on the mattress between them. If he tried hard enough, he could almost feel the heat of Louis’ body warming up the space around him. Harry wanted to press up against him and burn in it all day, for hours and hours and hours, until they were both so spent they could barely tell each other’s bodies apart. After that, they’d hold each other close and trade soft kisses until they fell asleep.

“I don’t know, Harry. Why?”

“I don’t know. I was asking you.” He couldn’t even remember what he’d asked anymore. And even though he had left the window open and the light breeze was ruffling the drapes, he still felt overheated, like he was lying too close to the fire. 

“Louis?”

“Harry,” Louis said, voice even lower, a rough, sleepy edge to it. “Sleep.”

“Why did the baboon ask the giraffe ‘why the long face’?” He didn’t wait for Louis to reply. “’Cause he thought his neck was his face.”

He chuckled weakly, too sleepy and dazed to do anything more.

Louis was probably already asleep.

“That’s got to be the dumbest joke I have ever heard,” Louis said and his voice was soft and sweet like honey. 

Harry smiled, felt the mattress dip, could almost feel Louis’ eyes on him.

Harry was already half asleep when light fingertips grazed his shoulder as Louis pulled the duvet higher up to his neck. He probably dreamt it.

****

Harry had always been told that he was a human octopus.

It seemed like he wasn’t the only one.

He’d come to slowly, well rested and warm and feeling as if he’d slept on a cloud. He also couldn’t move.

Lifting his head off the pillow seemed too much of an effort, so he just opened one eye to see Louis’ arm wrapped around his chest, the length of his body shaped against Harry’s back.

His heart caught up before his brain could even wake up, the beat of it thudding loudly, almost frantically in his chest and ears and fingertips. The heat of Louis’ body sinking into his own flesh hit him right in the belly.

“Louis,” he said weakly, biting his lip when Louis pulled him tighter against his chest, crotch rubbing over Harry’s bum. He wasn’t exactly soft.

Harry hadn’t wanked in over a week. Getting off hadn’t even been an option because every time he’d try, he’d only think of Louis. How much he’d _hurt_ him. And after that, he just… couldn’t. He couldn’t think of anything else either. 

They were both only wearing briefs and T-shirts and the light fuzz of Louis’ leg hair was tickling the sensitive skin of Harry’s thighs and the backs of his knees. For a moment he could imagine everything was fine and this was just one morning among many where he’d wake up in Louis’ arms, knowing he belonged there. He’d turn around slowly and lean his forehead against Louis’, hug him closer, feel him stir awake and smile once he saw it was Harry. 

Instead he tried to lie as still as he possibly could, torn between being shamefully hard and hating himself just a little bit for loving the way it felt to be in Louis’ arms like this.

Louis whined low in his throat, nuzzling the back of Harry’s neck, lips damp and soft on Harry’s skin as his hand slid down Harry’s torso, lower and lower, coming to rest over the quivering muscles of his stomach.

Harry bit down on his lip, feeling overheated and helpless, his heart aching for something he couldn’t have.

“Louis?”

He was straining against his boxers now, every brush of fabric sending an electric spark down his spine, the warmth of Louis’ hand so close he could almost feel it. He didn’t want Louis to see how he affected Harry, didn’t want Louis to think he was taking advantage.

“Louis, I n-need to get up.” He gently moved Louis’ arm away.

He felt Louis pull in a deep breath and knew he was up even before Louis jerked back as if stunned. 

Harry froze, blood rushing to his face. Louis could not, under any circumstances, _know._

“Fuck,” Louis mumbled, sleepy heavy and rough. “Sorry.”

“’S fine.” Harry buried his face in the pillow, his back chilly now that Louis wasn’t wrapped around him. He didn’t want Louis to be sorry. Not for this.

“It’s not fine. I should have stayed on my side of bed, I’m—”

“Louis,” Harry said, swallowing hard. “It’s okay. Not the first time we fell asleep like this. And like, I’m sorry. Sorry that it makes you feel like you have to apologize at all. It just… we were asleep. We didn’t do it on purpose. It’s all right.”

Harry hadn’t done this on purpose either. 

“I liked it, I—” he blurted out, glad he wasn’t facing Louis right now, trying to think of a way to get inside the bathroom without Louis seeing anything. “Never mind. Forget I said that.”

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his feet hitting the plush carpet as he stood up and tried to pull his T-shirt as low as it would go. He needed a cold shower and a heart transplant.

“Harry.”

Harry’s foot got promptly tangled in a heap of clothes Louis must have chucked by the bed. He stumbled forward and had to catch himself on the bedpost, his body twisting to the side. He wondered if his face was as red as it felt.

“Fuck, you all right?” Louis fell silent then and when Harry dragged his gaze up to meet Louis’, he found Louis staring at his crotch. Even from profile like this, Harry knew it was more than obvious, the way he was tenting out his briefs more than a little obscene. He rushed to cover himself up with his hands even though the damage was already done. “You’re—”

“Um,” Harry said, far from eloquent and not getting any softer, echoes of Louis’ touch still crackling over his skin. “Morning… stuff. You know. I’m not… it wasn’t--”

Louis rolled onto his front and groaned into his pillow. _Harry’s_ pillow. He wondered if Louis even knew, if he could smell Harry on it.

He hurried into the bathroom without another word. He needed to take a cold shower before he could do something even more stupid.

****

Harry wasn’t nearly as subtle as he probably thought. He kept stealing glances, shifting his focus in a blink before Louis could properly catch him in the act. 

It was when he stopped at another red light that Louis couldn’t handle it anymore.

“Are you going to tell me what’s on your mind?”

Harry jumped in his seat, hands fidgeting with his seatbelt. It was early in the morning and the skies were dark grey and gloomy and Louis would have rather stayed in bed. 

_With Harry._

_No._

“So?” Louis prompted, hoping to stop that line of thought, to stop thinking of Harry standing there by the bed, hard and embarrassed, making Louis want to reassure him and tell him it was all right. 

Whatever response he’d been expecting to come out of Harry’s mouth though… it wasn’t this.

“You look nice, is all. Sorry. I’ll stop.”

Louis gripped the steering wheel and swallowed hard. His usual _I know I do_ was nowhere to be found. He was still trying to remember how to close his mouth.

He hadn’t even shaved, too distracted by Harry walking around freshly showered with a speck of toothpaste on his chin. And Harry was hot, of course he was, but all Louis had wanted to do was rub it off Harry’s chin and kiss his cheek until it dimpled under Louis’ mouth.

“Harry, look, you don’t have to… like, I forgive you, all right? No hard feelings, _whatever_. Just stop this… stop tiptoeing around me. Stop acting like I’m gonna kick your puppy any minute now and just be the little bastard I know you can be or I’ll—”

“I’m a cat person. So like… more kittens than puppies.”

Louis really needed to stop getting tongue-tied around Harry. It wasn’t like him. “Okay, no. I take it all back. Who even picks _cats_ over dogs?”

Harry honest to god pouted. Louis turned his eyes to the road again just in time for red to turn to orange then green. He stepped on the pedal.

“Cats are independent and conniving but also cute and fluffy. They have a personality.”

“Is that why you like it when I call you kitten?” And shit. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Hadn’t meant to bring it all up ever again, his own cheeks turning hot.

Harry mumbled something unintelligible and turned to look out of the window, clearly realising it was fruitless to even argue. They both knew he liked it.

“I think you’re more of a cat than I am, actually,” Harry said.

“Excuse me? I am _not_.”

Louis was not a cat.

“You are though.”

“I meant it though, you know. I don’t blame you for what you thought. It was… I see how it could have made sense to you. I’m not angry at you.”

It was Louis. He was the one to blame, and he’d been trying to change and grow and stop being so dependent on his father’s money, but he still wasn’t there yet. Still wasn’t good enough.

He saw Harry’s hand reach for him out of the corner of his eye, but it never made contact. Harry folded his hands in his lap instead. “There’s still something not right. And like, I don’t want you to forgive me only to appease me. I just want to make things right.”

Louis gripped the steering wheel and said, “It’s not about you, all right? I promise.” He slowly rolled to a stop and tried not to look at Harry’s face. “Anyway, we’re here. Come on.”

Harry trudged behind him like a scolded child, expression as clouded as the weather. Louis had a hard time just not reaching out. Instead he slowed down until Harry was walking by his side and guided him into the door with his hand lightly resting on Harry’s lower back.

****

When Louis had been told he’d have to accompany Harry to the tailor’s, he’d never expected to end up feeling jealous. Because as he stood to the side and watched the tailor take Harry’s measurements, touching him, no matter how professional it was, Louis could admit that’s what this feeling pressing down on his chest was. _Louis_ should be the one touching Harry. He should be the one casually brushing his fingertips over the skin above Harry’s waistband as if it was no big deal. 

The tailor was at least fifty years old. Louis really needed to get a grip.

“You all right?” Louis asked Harry when the tailor hurried out of the room to fetch something. “Not cold?”

“A little bit, but it’s okay.” Harry was only wearing his briefs and he was steadily avoiding Louis’ gaze. He looked vulnerable. Louis kind of wanted to throw a blanket over his shoulders and make him tea. Louis didn’t make tea just for anyone.

“Sorry,” the tailor said once he walked back in, dark fabric draped over his arm. “My assistant is on vacation.”

“I could help you if you’d like,” slipped out of Louis’ mouth before his brain could even properly process it. “I mean, I’d probably only get in your way—”

“No, that would be brilliant, actually,” the tailor said, “Can you come hold this for a second? I’d make new ones right from scratch but as it’s such short notice, we’ll have to make do with what I have here. The measurements for these are very similar.”

The tailor helped Harry step into unfinished trousers that seemed just about his size, if a bit too loose around the hips.

Louis knelt down and faltered, refused to look up at Harry. Instead he held two parts of the fabric right at Harry’s hip, his mouth dry. The heat of Harry’s skin was warming up his knuckles. 

He tried not to imagine sliding his hands up Harry’s calves and kissing that little bit of softness above his hipbone. If he wanted to, he could count each little hair of Harry’s treasure trail. He averted his eyes, watching helplessly as the tailor pinned the fabric, loosened and tightened until it wrapped around Harry’s long legs like second skin. 

He shouldn’t have made the mistake of looking up.

Harry met his gaze, his cheeks flushed as though he knew what Louis was thinking, as though he could read it all written on Louis’ face like a cheap neon sign. 

The shirt Louis was wearing suddenly felt too tight, too constricting. He needed air, space without Harry in it because Louis couldn’t think straight around him. 

While the tailor was taking in the trousers at Harry’s other side, Harry’s fingers brushed over Louis’ knuckles, all soft and tickly and shy. Louis knew it wasn’t an accident when Harry did it again, his expression carefully blank save for the lightest blush on his cheeks.

Louis’ heart was beating on the tip of his tongue but he uncurled his pinky and caught Harry’s anyway. 

He didn’t quite know what to do with the urge to kiss _you’re so lovely_ into the softness of Harry’s hips, the urge to smooth his hands over every inch of him, the inner bend of Harry’s elbows and wrists and the arches of his feet just to see how it would make Harry feel. He wanted to let Harry in so bad.

_You don’t even know who you are anymore. You’d only fuck this all up._

Harry deserved better than that.

The tailor stood up and Louis let go, focusing only on holding the fabric together, refusing to look at Harry and see the disappointment in his face.

****

The drive back to hotel was wrought with tension. Louis was practically vibrating with it, hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel.

“Are you all right?” Harry finally asked and Louis’ brows furrowed as he looked at him… Louis looked at him as though he wasn’t quite sure how to answer.

“I think so.” Louis turned his attention back to the road. “I just feel a bit off? Sorry. I’m being a proper buzzkill, aren’t I?”

“You’re allowed to feel however you want,” Harry said, because the last thing he wanted was for Louis to think he was obliged to entertain Harry or anyone else when he wasn’t feeling well. Harry didn’t want him to put on an act. “I don’t mind just sitting here.”

“I know you don’t. I’ve been a right arse for most of this trip and you never once complained.”

Harry squirmed in his seat, idly picking at the tear in his jeans. “After what I said the other day, I didn’t exactly expect you to be happy you had to come here with me.”

“Hey, no,” Louis said, his hand lifting off the wheel as though he was about to reach out. He stopped himself halfway through. Maybe it was for the best. “I was being unprofessional. I’m surprised you haven’t called Karen to fly me out yet.”

Every time Louis would make an offhand remark just like this, it hit Harry right in the solar plexus. He just… he wanted Louis to _know_. “Louis, you’re… I don’t want anyone else here. Not because of what we, um… it has nothing to do with what happened between us. I’d always pick you over anyone else because I know you’ll do what’s best for me. I _trust_ you.”

Louis breathed out shakily, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Harry, you shouldn’t—”

“You’re so good at what you do,” Harry said, quickly, with fire under his skin, turning his body towards Louis as if it could make him believe it. Believe in himself. “I wouldn’t care if anyone else was against me if I had you on my side. Not Charles or Karen or anyone else. You. Because even when we fight, you always… you pull through for me. And that means a lot to me.”

After a long pause, Louis said softly, “You mean that.” 

Harry didn’t understand how Louis could be so cocky one moment and vulnerable the next. He wanted to keep finding out, wanted to know Louis’ every facet, the good and bad and everything in between, even the boring parts, the ones Louis thought nobody was paying attention to.

“I do.”

Louis was fumbling to word a response when the car lurched forward out of nowhere, running over some bump on the road. Harry gripped Louis’ arm on instinct, breath catching in his throat. 

“Shit!” Louis cursed when the car swerved to the side of the busy road and rolled to a stop a few moments later.

Harry’s heart was beating so hard he could see it when he glanced down at his chest. “What happened?”

“I think it’s the tire.”

That’s how Harry found himself sitting inside the car with a quiet Louis by his side, radio at full blast, as they waited for the towing truck, Harry no longer touching him even though he wanted to more than anything. They didn’t pick up where they’d left off, but the air no longer felt so heavy.

Outside, the skies turned darker and darker until the first drops of rain finally splattered on the windshield.

****

The drizzle had turned into downpour and Louis could barely see past the water sluicing down his face, his clothes soaked through and weighing him down.

It took forever to hail down a taxi, the towing truck having taken their car. And even though the ride back to the hotel was uncomfortably wet, Harry’s words wouldn’t stop playing on repeat in Louis’ mind. Despite the chilly clothes sticking to his skin, he felt oddly warm. Warm and scared too, because Harry _trusted_ him. This was too important for him to fuck up.

The heat of Harry’s body was just a tempting touch away and Louis wanted to shuffle closer until he felt Harry’s side pressed to his, tell him _I’ll do my best not to let you down._

“We’re here, gents.”

Louis paid and jumped out of the taxi, eager to shuck the wet clothes and just wind down. 

As they stood in the lift, Louis watched the rain drip off his clothes and pool around his feet, hyperaware of Harry’s presence right behind him, so close he could lean back into him if he wanted to. 

The lift finally pinged open on their floor and Louis didn’t _run_. He just… walked out briskly.

Harry’ hand closed around his elbow just as he was about to step over the threshold of their room. “Are you okay?”

“Cold,” Louis answered, even though his skin burned under Harry’s touch.

“Yeah,” Harry said, dropping his hand. “Better get out of these clothes.”

The last thing Louis needed to think about right now was naked Harry. He knew Harry wanted him. It was becoming harder and harder for Louis not to give in to Harry and all the feelings culminating inside him, urging him to smooth his hands down Harry’s skin, to _show_ Harry how he felt. Louis wanted to be close to him again so badly his hands shook when he tried to undo the top button of his wet shirt.

He shouldn’t have glanced up. Whatever resistance he’d been clinging to was gone the second he saw Harry. Because he should have looked like a drowned cat, but instead he looked like something out of a dream, his skin damp and dewy, his white T-shirt transparent and clinging to his torso, to the hard peaks of his nipples. 

Louis wanted to tilt his head and open his mouth against Harry’s skin so he could taste the droplets of rain sliding down the length of Harry’s neck. 

He was finding it hard to breathe. No one had ever made him feel like this. Like he wanted all of them, not just their body.

Harry’s hands were fumbling with his belt, pushing the skin-tight jeans down his thighs and Louis couldn’t bloody stop looking, helpless and entranced, his own discomfort forgotten in the wake of Harry standing there in the middle of the room in nothing but his briefs and a wet T-shirt, so beautiful Louis wanted to touch him just to see if he was real.

“Louis?” It was quiet, hesitant.

Louis lifted his eyes to meet Harry’s, wondering if the time had stopped when he hadn’t been paying attention, if he and Harry were the only thing in the world that held any meaning right now. 

Just... One last time. He’d get this off his chest and everything would be okay. He’d be able to function around Harry without his feelings getting in the way.

He couldn’t do it. He shouldn’t—

He didn’t remember moving, but he must have, because he was close enough now to see the way Harry’s bottom lip trembled as he exhaled, the slow sweep of his clumped lashes as his gaze slid to Louis’ mouth.

The jeans Harry had been holding met the carpet with a soft thud and then Louis’ hands were sliding beneath Harry’s soaked T-shirt and gliding over the dents of Harry’s ribs. He felt Harry shiver under his palms.

Harry’s eyes were bright, bright green, like a forest after a storm, and his teeth released his lip, bitten and raspberry pink. Louis lifted one hand just to touch it, to feel the plump give of it under his thumb. Harry’s startled breath was warm on his skin.

_Just… just once. One more time and then I’m done._

Louis didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. They moved in at the same time, slowly, carefully, like they had all the time in the world, their mouths just hovering close without touching, drinking in the wait of it, Louis’ fingers moving to cradle Harry’s jaw instead. Their noses brushed together, Harry’s hand resting in the dip of Louis’ lower back. He didn’t want to rush this, not when it was the last time he’d get to touch Harry like this.

He brushed the wet strands off Harry’s face, felt Harry’s lashes tickle his cheek as he pressed his open mouth to the corner of Harry’s.

“Just,” Louis said quietly, oddly calm despite the frantic beat of his heart. He’d made the leap, it was already done. He’d just enjoy the fall before he met the ground. “Just… last time. Please.”

“It doesn’t have to,” was all Harry said, trailing off as their lips met, open and pressed damply together, their bodies slotting from chest to knees.

Louis gripped Harry’s hair and kissed him with everything he had, tilted Harry’s head to the side to taste him deep, lost in Harry’s hands untucking his shirt, dipping under to scratch lightly up Harry’s spine and bringing the fabric up with it. If his eyes hadn’t been closed already they’d have fallen shut right now, the intensity of it too much, his nerve endings firing in the wake of Harry’s fingertips dragging torturously slowly over his skin.

They parted with a slick sound, breathed in deep and met again, hot and needy now, the tip of Louis’ tongue darting out to lick over the swollen roof of Harry’s mouth. Harry hummed and pulled Louis closer to his body like he couldn’t get enough, like he wanted to crawl under Louis’ skin, right into his heart and bones and every firing synapse as if he wasn’t already there. 

Louis walked Harry blindly towards the bed, his hands shaking as he slid them down Harry’s chest to swipe the T-shirt over his head. Harry kissed him again the second it fell to the floor, picking up when they’d left off, hungry hands fumbling with the buttons of Louis’ shirt. 

Harry tasted like rain, each slide of their lips like a kick of electricity. Louis opened his mouth and met Harry’s tongue, let Harry chase it back into his own mouth, strangling a whimper in the back of his throat.

His shirt followed Harry’s to the floor, buttons and cufflinks undone without Louis even noticing.

Harry pulled away, his lips red and swollen, shiny with their combined spit and Louis _needed to kiss him again._ “Harry—”

“Wait, I—” He sat back on the bed with a bounce, cheeks flushed as though he’d ran a marathon. His hands glided down Louis’ sides as he looked up at him with hooded eyes, chest falling and rising in time with Louis’. He couldn’t seem to get enough air. Somehow it was even better than the last time and they’d barely even touched.

“I want to touch you.” He leaned in to press a kiss to Louis’ chest, leaving chaste, lingering kisses, up and up until Harry was closing his mouth over Louis’ pulse point and suckling as if Louis’ skin was dusted with honey.

He had to brace himself on Harry’s shoulders and all this… it felt like too much. Like nothing Louis had ever felt before. Like maybe if he rested his ear over Harry’s heart he’d find out it was beating in synch with his own. 

He didn’t care. He wanted Harry. Needed him. He didn’t want to think.

Harry deftly undid Louis’ trousers and Louis kicked them off just in time for Harry’s hands to grip the backs of his thighs and pull with enough strength to force Louis to straddle him on the bed. Harry shuffled them up and rolled Louis over, weighing him down into the mattress with his own body.

It was stilling raining outside and Harry watched him as though the storm could bring the entire building down around their heads and he wouldn’t even notice.

He didn’t know what to do with it, how to feel, so he knotted Harry’s hair around his hand and pulled him into a kiss, breathed, “I want to fuck you,” into Harry’s panting mouth.

He whimpered and nuzzled Louis’ cheek, kissing the edge of his jaw until their mouths caught onto each other again and slotted in a deep, wet kiss.

Louis rolled Harry onto his back without breaking contact, straddling him. He could keep kissing Harry for hours and hours and hours until he didn’t remember what it felt like to exist without Harry’s lips on his. He’d be happy just kissing him. 

“Please,” Harry whispered, canting his hips, hard and desperate, hands gripping Louis’ hips tight enough to bruise.

“Not yet,” Louis said, more to himself, crawling down Harry’s body to leave a trail of kisses over his shivering, rain-slick skin, “Not yet.”

“Need you, Louis—”

“Shh,” he kissed over the hard line of Harry’s cock over his wet briefs, sucking at the head through the fabric until Harry was twitching, his hands spasming in the sheets. “Be good for me.”

Harry was panting, muscles straining with the effort to stay still, to be _good._

“Just like that.” Louis hooked his fingers in the briefs and pulled them down slowly, so slowly the cotton caught on the head and dragged over it until Harry was pleading, flushing down to his chest. He threw them on the floor.

“Please, _please_ —”

Louis sank his teeth into Harry’s inner thigh, biting lightly just to see, his own cock so hard it was making him dizzy. Harry couldn’t stop twitching, barely contained. The sight of it was riling Louis up even more, made him bite down hard and suck until Harry words’ turned incoherent.

His thighs fell open, pupils blown out as he tipped his chin to his chest to watch Louis plant little kiss over the bruising skin, moving up and up until his lips rubbed over Harry’s length. Louis licked out, could feel the pulse of Harry’s blood beating right under the taut, hot skin.

Harry wasn’t even pleading anymore, just watching, his groans chest-deep.

“Touch yourself,” Louis said, low and hoarse, shoving his own briefs down his thighs and kicking them off the second he climbed off the bed.

Harry closed his hand around himself and dropped his head back against the pillow, dim light glinting off his arched throat, his mouth open on a strangled gasp.

Louis quickly found his suitcase, tossed everything out until he found the lube and a condom he was grateful he hadn’t thrown out of his wallet.

Harry was pulling himself off slowly, up and down and up and down, thumb swiping over the head to smooth the slick of his precome down his length.

“Is this how you did it when you were listening to me getting off?” The bed dipped a little as he knelt on it. He shuffled back between Harry’s spread thighs. “Tell me.”

Harry shook his head, Adam’s apple bobbing as his gaze roved over Louis’ naked body. He looked like he wanted to eat Louis alive.

“How then?” Louis asked, sliding his palms over Harry’s knees and down his straining thighs. His own cock pulsed out a drop of precome, untouched and twitching with every gasp Harry let out.

“I was,” Harry said, voice wrecked, “on my belly. I… rubbed off—”

“Against the bed?” Louis asked, leaning down to kiss Harry’s kneecap, too scared he’d come the second he touched himself. Just for this moment, Harry was his. His to take care of. Louis wanted to make him feel good more than anything.

“Yes.” 

Louis bent over to kiss Harry’s chest, sucking the taste of rain off his skin. He licked a circle around Harry’s stiff nipples, sucked them into his mouth, teeth grazing just on the right side of pain. Harry’s hand was moving more frantically now, his knuckles bumping into Louis’ cock with each stroke. It wasn’t nearly enough.

Louis pulled on Harry’s nipples with his teeth, suckled and nibbled until they were as swollen as Harry’s lips. The heat of Harry’s body could set his own on fire. 

“On your belly,” Louis whispered, thinking _I have to make this count._

Harry was so hard his cock was a deep red, standing up straight and dripping steadily as he got on all fours. 

“Wait,” Louis said, clasped Harry’s hips just to lean in and kiss his tailbone. He grabbed a pillow and positioned it under Harry’s hips before he pressed down on Harry’s lower back until he lay down. “Show me.”

Harry almost sobbed into the sheets as he moved his hips, tentatively at first, sweat beading down the length of his spine. Louis wasn’t much better off, getting off on watching Harry get off.

The lube snicked open and Harry’s hips stuttered, his face turned to the side, kiss-swollen lips parted on each shuddering breath. Louis couldn’t help but lean in to kiss the corner of Harry’s mouth, sucking at Harry’s bottom lip him softly before he pulled back again.

Louis slicked his fingers and teased, spread Harry’s cheeks open and skimmed over his hole, the wetness trickling down to Harry’s balls.

“Don’t stop,” Louis said, pushing one finger into Harry just as he bore down against the pillow. He was tight and hot and Louis shivered at the thought of sinking inside, of feeling Harry close and intimate and desperate for it as much as Louis was.

“I’m gonna--”

“No.” Louis smoothed his palm up Harry’s arched spine, drunk on the way Harry reacted, the way his muscles rippled under his skin with every thrust of his hips against the pillow. “No, you’re not.”

Harry bit down on his forearm and pushed his hips back then pitched forward again, as though he didn’t know what he should do first, if he should grind into the pillow or into Louis’ hand. 

When Louis leaned down to kiss the nape of Harry’s neck, his skin was damp from rain and sweat and he smelled like earth after a storm, like ripe fruit. Louis was starving for the taste of him. 

He pushed in another slick finger, felt the stretch of it and slowed down, stroking Harry’s walls gently, deeply, rubbing over the spot that made his breath catch and release on a shuddering gasp.

Louis took his time, stroking and scissoring, sweat slicking down his own spine. He was half crazed with how much he wanted, _craved_ Harry more than oxygen.

Harry was stretched around Louis’ three fingers, deep pink and flushed, his hands clenched in the sheets.

“Please, please, Louis, Lou, I’m… _please_ —”

Louis was so hard he could feel his heartbeat pounding in his cock, yet he could spend hours right here, just teasing Harry open until neither of them remembered their own name.

They didn’t have hours.

He kissed down Harry’s spine, bit his bum cheek, the muscle spasming under his teeth.

“Do you want it?”

Harry’s eyes fluttered open and he licked over his lips, voice needy and fucked out already. “I want it. Want you.”

****

Harry felt over-sensitive and helpless, could almost feel every thread of the sheets rubbing over his skin, the pressure just building and building with no release. Louis’ fingers slid out, left him open and empty and he was grateful the covers muffled his whimper when Louis nudged his thighs further apart with his knees.

_I want him so much. Want him every day._

Nobody had ever touched him like this before, made him lose it with just a slide of fingertips down his spine and mouth sucking bruises into his lower back. Because it was more than that. More than just sex, more than he and Louis had ever done before, because he felt something for Louis now. He didn’t imagine Louis’ lips lingering on his skin, just resting there, pressing lazy kisses into Harry’s flesh as if he couldn’t even help it, couldn’t be anything but tender.

Louis cared too. He must have.

“Louis,” Harry rasped, eyes falling shut when Louis cupped his bum and squeezed, his thumbs pulling Harry open, making him breathless for it, his hips rutting into the pillow. It wasn’t enough, not when he wanted to feel Louis splitting him apart.

“Going to give it to you, kitten,” Louis said and then the slick weight of his cock was rubbing over Harry’s hole, the ridge of the head catching on his stretched out rim. 

“Need you.” He could barely catch his breath, hips pushing back, his cock steadily pulsing, precome wetting the pillow.

“I’ve got you.”

When Louis finally breached him, he felt big and thick and everything Harry had wanted, and it was _so good_ , so fucking good that hot tears squeezed out from beneath his closed eyelids.

Louis paused, his thumb gently brushing the moisture away. “Are you—”

“Don’t stop, _fuck_ , Louis, don’t…”

He was just overwhelmed, shivers wracking his frame. He still managed to reach behind him to grip Louis’ hip and force him forward. The movement pushed half of his cock into Harry’s ass and they both groaned, the pressure of it so good Harry let go of Louis so he could fist the sheets. “Harder.”

“Christ,” Louis mumbled, his voice like old whiskey.

He pushed in even deeper, further, until his balls pressed against Harry’s and he fell forward, arms caging Harry in on both sides, sharp teeth grazing the nape of Harry’s neck. He felt like an animal, reduced to lust and touch, unable to think past _harder, faster, more._

Louis gave it to him, rocked his hips forward, the length of him dragging over that spot that made Harry see stars, his vision blurring out. He was caught between the not-quite-pressure of the pillow constantly rubbing over his cock with every thrust and the dizzying stretch of Louis’ fucking him deep and _harderharderharder._

Harry didn’t want to give this up. Didn’t want to give Louis up. Because with him he felt like a part of a whole, like they’d been born to fit together just like this and _more_. He wanted him skin-to-skin, sweaty and breathless and cock deep in each other, and he wanted him dressed in nothing but old sweats and too big sweater doing nothing at all on a Sunday morning.

It’s not just sex to me. This… it means something to me.

Louis’ damp chest met his back, his hips grinding into Harry’s, his frantic breath tickling Harry’s ear.

“Get… up on your knees,” Louis whispered, nosing at Harry’s damp curls, breathing in deep before he gripped Harry’s hips and helped him off the mattress. “No, just…”

He pressed his palm between Harry’s shoulder blades to push his chest back against the bed, only his ass in the air. The angle allowed Louis to get in even deeper, snap his hips so hard against Harry’s it punched a moan out of his throat, the sound of it like a dirty staccato. He was constantly rubbing over Harry’s spot and Harry had to scramble to hold onto something, his mouth slack and cock pulsing out slick.

He was going to come.

Louis’ hands were everywhere, sliding down his sides and scratching up his back, curving around his thighs to force them even more apart until his inner thighs were burning and he could feel the echo of Louis’ teeth in the bruises he’d bitten there.

“So tight around me, kitten. So hot.”

Harry keened and pushed his hips back, rocking helplessly back and forth to meet Louis’ thrusts, his toes curling.

“So big,” he mumbled, incoherent and feeling like he was about to split apart at the seams with too much pleasure.

“You should see the way you look, _fuck_.” Louis thumbed over his rim, rubbing over the sensitive skin, just barely edging in, his other hand sneaking around to grip Harry’s cock and stroke. Harry _lost_ it. He cried hoarsely into the pillow, his hips snapping forward but unable to because Louis was holding onto him tight, rabbiting his hips into Harry’s as Harry spurted so hard he could feel it hit his chin. He was gasping and twitching, brain fuzzy and undone as Louis kept on fucking into him, grunting and clutching Harry’s hips hard enough to bruise.

“Do you want me t-to… fuck, pull out?”

“No,” Harry moaned, loved the _too much_ pain of it, gulping in air as Louis snapped into him so hard Harry had to brace himself against the headboard to stop his knees from sliding forward on the rumpled sheets.

“I’m—” was all Louis said before his hips stuttered and he was slumping over Harry’s body and holding him tight, the weight of him bringing them flat down into the mattress, the sheets rubbing over Harry’s too sensitive cock. Louis’ hips still kept twitching and he was biting down on Harry’s neck like a claim.

They rolled onto their sides, still joined. Louis’ arm curled tighter Harry’s stomach and Harry had come on him but neither of them cared.

He was wrung out and shivering, feeling vulnerable and a bit afraid of what would follow next but too exhausted to think too much.

_This wasn’t just sex. He has to… he has to see that too._

He felt Louis brush his hair away from his flushed face, eyelids already heavy as he came crashing down from the high. Louis was just pulling out when Harry felt himself drift off into sleep.

When he woke up next, it was to his phone ringing and an empty bed, the mattress still warm.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter ahead!!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE FINAL CHAPTER IS HERE!
> 
> Big thank you to every single one of you reading and commenting and being so encouraging. I love you.
> 
> A very special, massive thank you goes to Giselle, without whom this fic wouldn't be half as good. Her support and enthusiasm and advice means more than she knows!!

Louis wouldn’t have just left, Harry was sure of it. Not the Louis Harry had got to know.

“Louis?” He sat up and rubbed his hands down his face, feeling a little disoriented.

No one answered.

A quick search through the hotel suite told him he was the only one there, but Louis’ suitcase was opened on the floor by the bed, unfolded shirt hanging halfway out, his toothbrush discarded by the sink in the bathroom. The dent of his body was still cooling down on the sheets.

Harry showered quickly and pulled on the last set of clothes that didn’t desperately need a wash. He made his way to the downstairs dining room to get some coffee, trying not to dwell on the way he could still feel Louis with every step. Harry had always liked the dull ache of it right after.

He was just about to order coffee when he spotted Louis picking at food at one of the tables in the corner. Rain sluiced down the ceiling-to-floor windows behind Louis’ back. He looked small and lost in thought, his hair a mess.

Harry wanted to reach out and just… just touch him. 

“Could you,” he asked the barista, “bring it over to that table, please?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Thank you.” He stood in the same spot for a while, unsure and gathering courage. He breathed in and out, loosening the tense set of his shoulders on the exhale before he finally trudged his way towards an unsuspecting Louis. 

He wondered if he could just lean down and kiss Louis as though it was a habit.

Best not. Not yet.

He sat down across the table quietly, but Louis startled anyway, jumping in his seat and dropping his fork. His wide eyes settled on Harry, his cheeks flushing.

“I was about to bring you some food,” Louis said, shifting his gaze to the container Harry hadn’t noticed until now, resting innocuously between them on the table.

“Well, um… I guess I could eat. Sex always makes me hungry.” He rubbed the edge of the tablecloth between his fingertips and tried not to feel nervous. He didn’t quite know where to put his hands or how to sit without feeling self-conscious. “Thank you.”

Louis fumbled to pick up his fork, still not looking at him. “Harry—”

“I like you,” Harry admitted, insistent and fast before Louis could talk him out of it. Before he listed all the reasons why Harry shouldn’t. He just wanted to be honest, regardless of what Louis would tell him. Louis deserved to know how Harry felt. “I want you to give me a chance. Give _us_ a chance.”

The waitress chose that moment to bring his coffee and Harry smiled at her stiffly, his heart pounding as she set it down. He wondered if she could hear it.

“I can’t,” Louis said quietly and Harry stilled, his heart in his throat, “Not right now.”

Harry’s hand wilted down to his lap, his fingers curling into his palm. It was a bit difficult to speak. “Didn’t… didn’t it mean anything to you?”

Louis met his gaze, pushing his plate away as though he was no longer hungry. “Don’t fucking say that, Harry. Don’t--” He laughed without humour and raked a frustrated hand through his hair, messing it up even more. Harry’s heart sunk somewhere to his feet. “You _knew_. I told you right before it happened that it was… it wasn’t going to happen again. It can’t, don’t you get it?”

And he had. Louis had told him, but Harry had gone and put his heart on his sleeve anyway. He wasn’t ready to give up yet. Maybe if he just tried harder, showed Louis how good they could be together. “Louis, please, let me prove it to you. I can—”

“I can’t,” Louis said, quiet and intense and breathing hard. “I’m a fucking mess and being around you like this isn’t helping, all right? I don’t even know who I am anymore, and… I don’t want to hurt you. Or me. I can’t give you what you need.”

Harry curled his shaking hands around the small espresso cup and swallowed hard, his throat dry. “I don’t need anything but you.”

The rain kept splattering against the windows. 

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” Louis shook his head, slowly, lashes fanning over his cheeks. Even when he was breaking Harry’s heart in two, he was still the most beautiful thing in the world. “You don’t know me.”

“I do,” Harry whispered. “I do know you.”

“You think you do, but you don’t. Not all of me. Your opinion of me is all warped up by how closely we’ve been working together. I’ve been looking out for you and taking care of you—”

“ _Exactly_ —”

“But that’s work!” Louis heaved a shaky breath and bit down on his lip. “It’s the only thing in my bloody life I’m good at. Do you want to know what else I’m good at? Do you?”

Harry almost reached out, feeling hollow and just wanting to break down the wall between them.

“ _Nothing_ , Harry. Nothing. I only have one friend because I’ve fucked the rest of them over and my father doesn’t even trust me to do a decent job because I’ve spent all my life wasting money and getting fucking drunk and high and doing my best to prove him right! I wouldn’t be a good _boyfriend_. I can’t. I’m not there yet—”

The words boiled right under the surface of Harry’s skin until he hurt with it, because, “You’re the one who doesn’t get it, Lou. I don’t want some fictional, perfect version of you! I want,” he swallowed hard, gripped his thighs just to have something to hold onto, “you. Like this. Just like this. I don’t fucking want or need you to change.”

“But I want to change,” Louis said, his voice shaking. “That’s the whole point, Harry. This is not who I want to be. I don’t want to be with you _like this_.”

Harry nodded tightly and pushed the coffee away. It would only taste like dust. 

He didn’t need for Louis to change. He just wanted them to grow up and change _together_. He didn’t know how to make Louis see that. How to show him they could make each other better. That they could do this together. “If that’s… if that’s what you want. I don’t want to be the kind of person who just keeps… I see you’ve already decided—”

“Harry, I’m—”

“No,” Harry said, giving Louis a smile, his cheeks straining with the effort. Space. He just needed… space. “It’s okay. We’re okay.”

He stood up, his shoe catching on the leg of the chair as he stumbled to his feet. “We should go. Still have to pack and get… stuff. The flight—”

He was already turning around, about to head out of the restaurant when Louis’ fingertips fluttered up to his elbow, disappearing just as quickly. 

Louis took in a ragged breath. “I’m sorry, Harry. I’m sorry. I wish it was different.”

Harry swallowed hard and resisted the urge to turn around and hold Louis close, to keep him forever and never let go.

“Me too.”

****

The flight had been long and torturous and Louis had spent most of it replaying everything they’d both said over and over again, the look on Harry’s face when Louis had told him no. He’d made the right choice, hadn’t he? How could he possibly give himself to Harry when he didn’t even know who he was anymore? When he didn’t even know he could be someone who could sustain a relationship?

It wouldn’t be fair to either of them. He couldn’t just dive in, a reckless mess, only to realize it wasn’t for him. He couldn’t lose _Harry_ for good.

Didn’t mean Louis hadn’t spent the entire flight wanting to touch Harry, just to hold his hand. If someone had told him this months ago, he’d have laughed. He’d never been the handholding type, not when he could push someone to their knees instead and rock into the heat of their mouth. Yet he’d spent over an hour clutching onto the airplane safety measures flyer so he wouldn’t slide his pinky down the back of Harry’s hand just to feel him close.

He wasn’t ready yet. _Not yet, not yet, not yet. One day. If it’s not too late._

He dropped his suitcase by his bed, finally at home, and flopped face-front on the mattress, breathing in the smell of detergent and fresh sheets. He’d never in his entire life changed the sheets. They were just always there… clean and fresh.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he rolled over on his back with a grunt, fishing the phone out and breathing a tired “hello” into the speaker.

“Louis, mate, this is Ed. Ed Sheeran?”

Louis sat up, toeing off his socks. “All right, Ed?”

“Well, no, actually. That’s why I’m calling you. Thought you might be the bloke to help me out.”

****

“What?” Harry asked for the third time, blinking at Louis, wide-eyed and speechless.

Louis was having a hard time biting back his smile, the urge to grab Harry and hold him close almost too much to resist. He didn’t even know if he was allowed to touch Harry anymore. He didn’t want to confuse him, to hurt him.

“Mate, that’s… holy cunt,” Niall said.

Louis had almost forgotten Niall was even there. That happened a lot whenever Harry was around. He made it hard to focus on the rest of the world. “Yeah, it’s… so I take it you’re saying yes?”

“Louis,” Harry said, voice raspy and the corners of his mouth slumping as if he was about to cry. 

Louis caught Harry’s elbow, helpless, pulling him closer and whispering, “I thought you’d be happy—”

“I am.”

“If you cry, I’ll cry and then it’ll be a fucking mess.”

“Louis, please, can I—” Harry sniffed, looked down at Louis’ hand on his elbow. Louis let go. He hadn’t even noticed he was still holding on. “Can I hug you?” 

As soon as Louis nodded, reluctant though it was, he had a face full of Harry’s neck and curls and his smell. Always something sweet and lovely on him. Louis wanted to breathe him in for hours. He _shouldn’t._

“Harry—”

“I can’t do this on my own.”

Louis was helpless to do anything but return the embrace and try to ignore how his feelings hadn’t gone away at all. The sex had only made everything worse. Being near Harry made everything worse. “You’ve got me. You’re going to make it, and I’ll be with you every step of the way, don’t _ever_ doubt that. I’m here. I’m right here.”

“Louis—”

“Harry, let’s just… this is your moment. You’ve been working so hard. How does it feel?”

“I’m, um… I don’t think I’m realising how big this is yet, I’m still—” Harry chuckled wetly and tightened his arms around Louis. “I’m gonna open for Ed bloody Sheeran. Is this real?”

“Very real.”

“You did this,” Harry whispered to Louis, his lips soft and damp on the side of Louis’ neck.

“I’m… I mean, I helped? He just asked if I knew of anyone new because his opening act pulled out at the last second, and I mentioned you. There’s no one better for the job.” Louis wasn’t even saying that just because. Harry _was_ the best. He had so much potential and Louis wanted so badly to see him shine. “Ed remembered you, too. He loved the stuff I sent him, so I’m really just the mediator here. I knew he’d say yes.”

Right in this this moment, Louis was glad his father had made him attend all those record label parties. Without that, Louis would have never ended up sharing drinks with Ed and becoming sort-of-friends, would never have been the first person from their label Ed decided to call for a tip on a new opening act. He finally felt like he’d found his purpose, like he was actually truly good at his job.

“Thank you,” Harry said and Louis felt a sudden burst of fierce pride for Harry. Maybe even for himself.

“That event we got your suit for… Ed will be there. Maybe we could have you two snapped together. It would make for good press. Karen agrees with me—”

“I don’t need her to agree with you,” Harry said, pulling back enough so he could look Louis in the eye. “If you say it’s good, it’s good.”

Louis ducked his face and tried not to miss Harry’s warmth when they finally let each other go.

He was just about to fumble out a response when Niall made a gagging noise and threw an unopened bag of peanuts at them.

“You fuckers didn’t even notice I’d gone. Way to make a guy feel like a bloody third wheel.”

 _‘It’s not like that,’_ froze on the tip of Louis’ tongue.

It wasn’t. He couldn’t take the leap. Not yet.

****

“You need to stop pining, mate.”

Louis threw an unimpressed glance Zayn’s way and adjusted his beanie. “I’m not even doing anything! I’m just sitting here.”

“Mmhmm, sure,” Zayn kicked out at Louis’ hip with his socked foot and stuffed his mouth full of Chinese Lo Mein. His smirk relaxed into a soft smile as he regarded Louis with sleepy, half-lidded eyes. It was well past midnight and they were eating Chinese take-out in Louis’ bed while _How To Train Your Dragon_ played out on the big screen mounted on the wall opposite the bed. “I like this, though. You being more open about how you feel. It’s good.”

It didn’t feel good to Louis. It felt like his insides were all exposed and if anyone looked close enough they’d see that he’d hardly changed at all. Not enough. That’s why he’d made his own bed this morning. It had been messy no matter how hard he’d tried, but at least he’d done it on his own. He was _trying_. “You really think so?”

“I invited Harry and Niall over.”

Louis promptly choked. He coughed and went red in the face as Zayn frantically patted his back until he felt like he wasn’t about to keel over because of a noodle stuck in his windpipe.

“What the f—”

“Well, not right now, dumbass,” Zayn said, still stroking his back. “You haven’t even washed your hair. What kind of friend do you take me for?”

Louis wanted to protest, to say he didn’t give a fuck what his hair looked like when Harry could see him, but Zayn wouldn’t have believed him anyway, even though it was true. Louis _knew_ Harry wouldn’t judge him for it. 

“Next weekend,” Zayn said. “I called Harry and said we should all hang out. And before you ask, I stole his number from your phone.”

Zayn just wanted to monitor Harry like some kind of overbearing parent. Louis could already tell. And even though he knew shouldn’t, that he wasn’t really helping himself, he kept letting himself being pulled into Harry’s orbit in a way that wasn’t strictly professional. 

“Don’t look at me like that, Lou. I’ll play nice. Figured I might as well get to know your future husband better.”

“He’s not — we’re not… we’re not anything.”

“Lou, at the premiere last night you actually _growled_ when that pap was rude to him.”

“I know.” 

“He shared his food with yo—”

“I _know_ ,” Louis pulled his knees up and rested his chin there.

Zayn pulled the food container out of his limp grasp and wrapped his arm around Louis’ slumped shoulders. “It’s not that bad.”

“I have no idea what I’m doing here. I don’t know what I’m even supposed to do anymore. I’m trying so hard to do the right thing for everyone, but I feel like I’m going to fuck it all up no matter what I do.”

“You’re not going to. Just say you’re not and you won’t.”

“It doesn’t work like that.”

Zayn rubbed his hand up and down Louis’ arm. “Just tell him how you feel and try to do your best. That’s all you can do.”

“I told him ‘no’. He wanted to… wanted to be together and I said ‘no’.”

“Oh, Louis. Why?” 

Louis slumped into Zayn, mumbled. “I don’t want to hurt him.”

“I kind of think that by saying that, you already have, babe.”

Louis held onto Zayn and squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to cry. He didn’t know what the right thing to do was anymore.

****

It was sweltering hot, the air sticky and still, the iron railing of the fire escape a temporary relief when Harry leaned his forehead against it. Sweat beaded on his upper lip and his bones felt too heavy to move.

He kind of wanted to curl up and fall asleep watching the sky through the cracks of the metal structure. Maybe he’d even spot a star through the smog. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t sleep or stop thinking about how everything was about to change. Couldn’t stop thinking about Louis. About how hard on himself he was, how he’d take care of others but wouldn’t let anyone to do the same for him. Harry wanted Louis to let him so bad.

He toyed with his phone and closed his eyes, a tendril of shower-damp hair escaping from his bun to tickle the side of his face. He wished he could call Louis, needed Louis to tell him everything would be okay and that he was all right too.

He stared at Louis’ name in the contact list. It was past midnight already. If Louis was already asleep, the last thing Harry wanted to do was wake him up.

He’d just… text. Right? Right. 

His thumb hovered over the screen. He typed and retyped the text several times before he finally settled on _‘Are you up? Can I call you?’_

He curled his toes in, the staircase cool under his bare feet as he waited, fiddling with the frayed edge of his grey cut off sweats, rucking the fabric even higher up on his thighs. It seemed to take forever. After a few minutes of silence, he gave up.

He was just about to set the phone down when it buzzed with an incoming call. 

Harry startled and sat up straight, breathing out, “Louis?” into his phone.

“Harry, are you okay? What’s going on? Why are you up?”

“No, no, I’m okay. I’m sorry I’m bothering you so late, I just… I was wondering how you were? Are _you_ all right?”

Louis’ voice was raspy and he sounded almost taken aback when he said, “I’m fine, but… thank you. You shouldn’t be up, Haz. You need to get some sleep. I should probably go.”

When Louis fell quiet Harry could hear a low, pounding echo of jazz in the background. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you. If you’re having a party—”

“No, no, it’s not me,” Louis said, sounding a bit embarrassed and upset. “Dad is having one of his _parties_. Sorry, they’re being bloody loud.”

That’s why Louis most likely wasn’t in his bed, asleep. He shouldn’t have to deal with that.

“Come here. Please. I mean, I know it’s late, but it’s quiet here. You can get some sleep,” Harry said softly, not wanting to put any pressure on him. 

“I can’t do that. You have your gig tomorrow. You shouldn’t be up to play a babysitter.” Louis sounded so warm at night and Harry wished he could lean into him and bump their noses together in an Eskimo kiss. Instead he was sitting here leaning against rusty bars and a bird shit splattered a couple feet away.

“You take care of me all the time.”

“I like doing that. It makes me,” Louis admitted, quieter now, “It makes me feel needed. Like I can finally do something right.”

Harry swallowed hard and wished Louis would let him past all his guards. Harry would keep him so safe. “Then let me do the same for you. Just this once. Please. You’re not going to be a burden, Lou. I want you to be here.”

Harry wrapped his arm around his shins and closed his eyes, listening to the soft cadence of Louis’ breaths. 

“If you don’t, you should know I’m not above coming to yours and dragging you back here with me. Or jumping off this fire escape and twisting my ankle so then you’ll have to come.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Louis said, but there was a crack in his armour that spurred Harry on.

“Let me take care of you. Please.”

Louis let out a soft, snuffling sound and Harry wanted to catch it in his hand and hold it against his chest. 

“Okay.”

****

When his phone starting buzzing, Harry startled awake and almost dropped it, his brain stuck somewhere sleep and wakefulness, the nape of his neck damp with sweat. His bones creaked in protest at being folded up in the most awkward ways.

He glanced around, dazed, rubbing his sleep-swollen eyes with his knuckles as he sat up straight. Not to self, fire escape wasn’t the most comfortable place for dozing off. 

He hit ‘accept’ and held the phone up to his ear, his voice a rasp. “Louis?”

“I’m, um… I’m here, so… can you get your bum down and let me in?”

“Stay put. Don’t even move, I’ll be there is a sec.” Harry picked himself up, trying his best not to knock anything over as he tiptoed back into the flat to slip his flip-flops on and grab the keys, hurrying down the stairs before Louis could change his mind.

He had hoped, but he hadn’t actually expected Louis to come. 

He really was there though, standing in front of Harry’s building, sheepish and soft, dressed in dark joggers and some old band T-shirt with the sleeves cut off and bright blue tennis shoes.

“You came.”

“You were quite persistent.”

Harry had the _‘I just want you to be okay’_ ready on the tip of his tongue, was already parting his lips to give it voice when Louis added, “Are you sure I’m not bothering you?” 

Louis looked tentative and vulnerable, as though he was waiting for Harry to agree with him.

“Never.” He closed the short distance between them, close enough now to feel a whiff of Louis’ smell, summer night and something expensive. If he hugged Louis right now, he’d be able to feel Louis’ heartbeat, strong and steady and beating against his own. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Louis ducked his head, shuffling in place. “Should we… should we go in?”

“Yeah, yes. Sorry.” Harry felt suddenly shy, a bit self-conscious about his ratty old shorts and messy bun and the flat he was about to invite Louis into. It was probably the size of Louis’ bathroom. He doubted Louis would mind, but Harry couldn’t even remember if Ella’s bra still hung over the lamp, _god._

“I should warn you, it’s not much.”

“I don’t mind,” Louis said, his fingertips resting lightly in the dip of Harry’s lower back as he led Louis inside the building and up the shoddy staircase. The lift hadn’t been working since Harry had moved in. Probably even long before that. 

He keyed inside the flat as quietly as he possibly could, flicking the lights on and closing the door behind them. He tried not to watch Louis’ reaction. “As I said. I’m sorry it’s… well. It’s a shitty flat. But it’s clean? Niall cleaned up like a four days ago, so it could definitely be worse and I’m—”

“Harry,” Louis whispered, wrapping his fingers loosely around Harry’s wrist. “I like it.”

“How can you like it? Your house is—”

“Big. That’s all. But it’s also… it’s sterile. It doesn’t always feel like home.” He smiled sadly, thumb pressed against Harry’s pulse point. “Your flat feels more like it and I don’t even live here.”

Louis let go of Harry’s wrist and wandered over to their tiny sofa where the upholstery was tearing at the seams and the cushions remembered the shape of their butts. Especially Niall’s. Harry grimaced but followed, watching the way Louis’ gaze roved over every little thing, his face lighting up when he finally spotted the damn bra.

“Oh God.”

“That yours?” Louis asked, bordering on cheeky as he snatched the bra off the lamp and held it to his chest. “I think red’s my colour.”

Harry swallowed hard and tried to keep his hum of approval to himself.

“It’s Ella’s. She’s a proper slob.”

“Oh, you have Fifa!” Louis whispered excitedly and sunk to his knees in front of the TV, dropping the bra so he could have a look at the game instead. “Sick.”

Harry sat down next to Louis on the floor, cross-legged and drinking in Louis’ profile, the slow sweep of his lashes and soft, floppy hair. He reached out before he could stop himself, just brushing his fingers through Louis’ fringe, caressing the sharp edge of Louis’ cheekbone with the back of his hand. He dropped it right away, too aware of crossing the lines he shouldn’t. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Louis said and lowered the game to his lap, nudging Harry’s bare knee with his knuckles. “Thank you for this. I’d have gone to the guesthouse, but Dad lent it to some band from Sweden. I didn’t feel like being around strangers. ”

 _What are we?_ Too close to be friends. Too distant to be more than that.

“You’re always welcome here, Lou.”

“I still feel like I’m putting you out.”

Harry reached out and stopped himself again. It was like a reflex he couldn’t control. “You’re not. I invited you. If it makes you feel better, I… I didn’t want to be alone. Having you here makes me… it’s nice. Okay?”

“Okay,” Louis whispered. “Sorry I’m being so weird. I guess I’m just… I used to mind my little sisters, way back when we were little. I’ve never had it the other way around. It feels a bit off to me, if I’m honest.”

Louis’ chest rose and fell on a deep breath and Harry wanted to touch him so badly he could barely keep his hands from shaking. 

“I didn’t know you had any sisters.” There was a lot of things about Louis he probably didn’t know. But he wanted to. He wanted to spend hours every day learning everything there was to know, sharing secrets and creating their own.

“Yeah,” was all Louis said, his shoulders slumped. 

“You don’t have to talk about it. Not if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s,” Louis said, fidgeting with the game in his lap. “I haven’t seen them in ages. I probably wouldn’t even recognize them. They’re all… Mum and them… they live in London. Have for years. Maybe if I’d been a better brother, I’ have tried harder to keep in touch. But it was too hard, so I just gave up.”

“Louis, no.” Harry couldn’t help himself then. He caught Louis’ hand and cradled it in his, smoothing his thumb over the bumps of Louis’ knuckles. “That wasn’t your responsibility. Your parents should have… _they_ should have tried harder. Don’t blame yourself.”

“I don’t know,” Louis said, small and tired. Harry wanted to smooth out the crease between Louis’ brows and make him smile. He wasn’t helping. 

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” He lifted their hands to his mouth and rested his lips on Louis’ skin, kissing lightly. “We should go to bed, yeah? Get ready for an early start tomorrow.”

Harry let go, already missing the feeling of being connected to Louis as if it was phantom ache. “Come on then, hop up.”

“It’s way too late for me to be hopping anywhere. ‘M tired.” He let Harry pull him up by his hand and blinked slowly. 

“Is this all right?” Harry remembered himself as he led Louis to his bedroom. “Us like this? I don’t have a spare room. ‘M afraid the sofa is more of a torture device than a place to sleep.”

Louis’ touch ghosted over Harry’s shoulder. “It’s just sleeping, right? We’ve done that before.”

They’d done a lot more than that. When he closed the door behind them and Louis flopped onto his back on the bed, Harry was suddenly very aware of it. 

It was dark but he could still see the smooth sliver of Louis’ belly where his top rode up. Louis had the nicest belly, the nicest everything Harry had ever seen. He wanted to kiss each spot slowly, thoroughly. Not even for it to lead anywhere, just to feel Louis’ skin under his lips.

Completely oblivious to Harry’s longing, Louis stretched his arms out over his head and said quietly, seriously, “I used to always want those glue-on stars you pin to the ceiling but I never did get them.”

The bed groaned under Harry’s weight as he sat down. “Why didn’t you?”

“My parents said it was tacky. That it wouldn’t go with décor. And that was that.”

Harry would buy Louis thousands of plastic stars and cover all the walls with them if it made Louis happy. He wished Louis would let him. 

“As an amateur decorator, I have to say your parents have no taste. Glue-on stars go with everything.”

“I know! That’s what I think too.”

He bumped his knuckles into Louis’ side and asked, “Do you need anything to sleep in? I’ve got spare tees and stuff you could borrow.”

“Maybe?” Louis brought one hand down to rest it on his belly. “A T-shirt? I didn’t exactly come prepared. I never do think much before I act, I’m afraid.”

Somehow, Harry was not surprised at all. Playing things by ear was a part of Louis’ charm. “Okay. I’ve got you.” 

It was the worst kind of torture to have Louis so close, yet not be able to lie down next to him and give him a goodnight kiss.

By the time Harry pulled a soft, white T-shirt out of his wardrobe, Louis was down to nothing but his briefs, moonlight slanting over his body through the slats in Harry’s window. Harry stopped in his tracks, his heartbeat kicking up.

“Thank you,” Louis said as he walked over to take the T-shirt out of Harry’s limp grasp. Their hands touched and Harry felt as though he was thirteen again, utterly smitten and useless to do anything about it. As though he hadn’t already had Louis naked and under him, behind him, pressed up to his body, sweating and sucking kisses into Louis’ neck.

He wanted more than that. He wanted quiet Sunday mornings, grimacing at each other in the bathroom as they brushed their teeth side by side, bickering over what they’d eat and what they’d watch on TV and going on dates on a Friday night, dressing up for each other because they still wanted to impress. 

Harry wanted that all so much he ached with it.

Louis wasn’t ready though, and Harry was going to respect that. He’d wait, of course he would. Louis was worth waiting for. 

“Lou?”

“Yeah, love?”

Harry’s heart clenched. Rubbing at his chest didn’t ease the persistent pangs at all.

Louis was slipping the too big T-shirt over his head. The well-worn cotton fluttered down to his hips, the shoulder slipping to one side to reveal Louis’ collarbones and Harry just… he needed Louis closer than this.

“Can we cuddle?” 

Louis stayed quiet and Harry panicked, his mouth working a mile a minute now, gesticulating out of a nervous habit he got anytime he couldn’t shape the right words. “I mean, I know it’s like, weird, and I wouldn’t ask but I’m… Louis, can you—”

“Harry, it’s fine. It’s all right.” 

They both washed up quickly and then Louis was backing towards the bed and holding his hand out. “Come here.”

They settled into bed tentatively, almost awkwardly, limbs knocking into each other before they finally found a way that worked. They lay on top of the sheets, too warm to get under.

“Is this okay?” Louis’ warm breath tickled Harry’s nape and his arm settled carefully over Harry’s waist. 

“Yeah.” Harry curled back into Louis and held Louis’ arm to his pounding heart.

“This doesn’t mean—”

“I know,” Harry said, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m just glad you’re here. I didn’t want to be alone tonight either.”

****

Breakfast was strange, Harry clearly doing everything he could to make Louis feel welcome — it only made Louis feel like even more of an imposition, like he was putting Harry out. Harry shouldn’t be thinking about him right now. He should be relaxing, maybe even rehearsing. They needed to be at sound check in a few hours and Louis needed to duck into the office to make sure everything was ready on his end, check his emails, do his fucking job so he didn’t let Harry down.

Last night had been the best night of sleep Louis could remember, but he’d been selfish. He’d taken what Harry was giving him when he had nothing to give in return. Not really. Not the way Harry wanted him to.

He helped Harry wash and dry their bowls then forced himself to get fully dressed, fighting the urge to just _stay._

“So, um, a car is going to pick you up around one to take you to sound check, yeah?” 

“You’re leaving already?” 

“I…” Louis looked at his feet. He shouldn’t have come over at all. “I’ve got to get changed, get to the office, check my emails and all that. I’ll meet you at the stadium later on this afternoon, yeah?” 

“Okay, see you there,” Harry smiled, but Louis had to check before he left. 

“You alright?” 

“Yeah, I’m feeling fine,” Harry said, a dimple in his left cheek. “It’s gonna be sick, right? Can’t wait.” 

_Good_ , Louis thought to himself. Harry was happy, and his mind was on his gig where it belonged. As much as Louis wanted to stay he was just a distraction Harry didn’t need.

****

Harry watched the door close behind Louis, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He’d been hoping something would change, that Louis was going to… what? Change his mind? Harry had been naïve, had probably only made everything worse by pushing too far. He must have or Louis wouldn’t have been in such a hurry to leave, the clock showing only 7am. Shit.

Niall was out for brunch with Ellie, and Harry sat down on the sofa with nothing but his thoughts for company. 

If he fucked up tonight he’d disappoint _everyone_. Louis, Charles, Karen — everyone at the label would know he wasn’t going to make it. Harry wasn’t stupid. He knew how the industry worked. They’d drop him before he even had a chance to get started, and Louis would see it all happen. He’d see Harry fail, realize he’d never really been worth being given a chance in the first place. 

He hugged a throw pillow to his chest, just trying to breathe, to ease the weight of the pressure crushing his chest, to try to forget that the rest of his future stood on one single moment.

If he ruined it, he was _over_. Finished. He’d have nothing. Nothing but this empty shitty flat and dead end jobs and no more Louis. Because Louis was good and ambitious and capable and maybe he’d feel sorry for Harry enough to keep in touch at first, but eventually he’d drift away. Because why would he stay?

_I can’t lose him._

****

Nothing was right.

Louis knew that the second he stepped into Harry’s dressing room and found him sitting there hunched over, pale as a winter morning, sweat beading along his hairline.

“Louis,” he breathed out, his elbows digging into his knees.

Seeing Harry like this made his hands shake. He closed the distance in seconds and crouched down beside him, thumbing over Harry’s brow and trying not to panic. “It’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. Come on, love, you’ll ruin your make up.”

Harry tilted his head up, his eyes glassy. He trembled and took in a ragged breath. Louis seriously thought about calling the whole thing off, disaster that would follow be damned.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Harry said and Louis could barely even blink before Harry was up on his feet and rushing towards the bathroom. 

Louis ran after him, found Harry sitting down on the floor and sank to his knees to gather Harry’s hair at the nape of his neck as he dry heaved.

“I can’t. I can’t do it.”

“You can, Harry, they’ll love you,” Louis insisted. There had to be a way to make this better. 

Harry retched again, but nothing came up. “I can’t,” he gasped. “I’ve never played a crowd that big. What if they hate me? Or worse… what if they’re bored?” Harry caught Louis’ hand, squeezing so hard it hurt. “It’s just… This is everything I’ve ever wanted and it’s finally _so close_. If I mess up, that’s it, you know? I’m done. And I won’t be only letting myself down. I’ll be letting down everyone else, including Ed and Niall and… and you too. And that’s even worse.”

“You won’t let me down. No matter what happens, I’ll be proud of you.” Louis insisted. “You’ll get up there and everyone will see how amazing you are, how talented, and they won’t be able to take their eyes off you. And you’ll smash it. I _know_ you will.” 

It wasn’t working. Harry’s face only grew paler and he spat miserably into the toilet bowl, shaking his head. He probably hadn’t eaten a thing since yesterday. Louis had never felt more useless. He combed Harry’s hair away from his face then wrapped his arm around Harry’s waist to help him stand. 

He helped Harry clean up, unable to stop touching him in some way, needing to reassure Harry that he wasn’t in this alone.

“There’s so many people out there,” Harry said, avoiding Louis’ gaze as though he was ashamed. Louis couldn’t have that. He hugged Harry hard, rubbing circle into Harry’s back until he felt Harry’s shivers ease at least a little. He loved him. Fuck, he loved Harry so much. He’d do anything to make this better.

“You can do anything.” He leaned back and cupped Harry’s face, made him look, let Harry see how serious Louis was about this. “I believe in you.”

Harry held onto Louis’ wrist, tight-lipped and shaking his head. “I’m going to fuck up. I’m going to forget the lyrics or miss my notes. I’m going to embarrass myself. This isn’t just fifty people in a club, it’s a fucking stadium. Fuck, what was I thinking? I can’t bloody do this. I’m going to ruin everything—”

“Harry,” Louis jumped in, willing him to see reason. “What if you do? What’s the worst that could happen? If you miss a note, you’ll get your next one. People won’t notice you messing up your lyrics, they’re all new —”

“You don’t get it,” Harry choked. “This is everything I have. Without it I have _nothing_.”

“That’s not true,” Louis said harshly, forcing Harry to look at him. “You’ve got _me._ ”

“I don’t though. I don’t have you. Not really.”

Louis could see the second Harry regretted his words, trying to draw back, an apology ready on his lips, and Louis bloody couldn’t… he couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t be scared his entire life and keep pushing Harry away, because right this moment when he saw Harry standing here in front of him, fumbling to find steady ground, Louis knew. He might not have figured out his entire life but he was sure of _this_. He knew he’d do anything to keep it, that what he felt for Harry wouldn’t just fizzle out. He wouldn’t let it. And he couldn’t leave Harry in this alone.

“You _do_. I mean if you still…if you still want me after all the shit I put you through.”

“What are you…” Harry stared at him, panic forgotten, not breathing, not moving, perfectly still like he was afraid to move and shatter the moment. “What are you saying?” 

Louis swallowed hard. “I’m yours, if you still want me. I love you, Harry. _I love you_ —”

Harry’s lips pressed against his and Louis’ head was spinning so fast he wasn’t sure he was still standing straight. He held onto Harry desperately, shivering when the tip of Harry’s tongue teased the bow of his mouth. By the time they pulled apart they were both gasping, breathless from relief and happiness and nervous, timid kind of hope.

“Why?” Harry asked his lips still tickling Louis’.

He leaned his forehead against Harry’s. “Because I need you. Because I still don’t know what I’m doing but I want you to know you’re not in this alone. Not in any of this.” 

Because the alternative was only making them both miserable. Louis was finally ready to admit that to himself. And maybe he would fuck it up. Maybe Harry would. It didn’t matter. It was worth the risk. “You deserve to know how I feel too. I love you. And I want you to know that whatever happens on that stage, I’ll still be here. You’ll still have me. All of me.”

“Fuck, Louis,” Harry whispered, pressing a kiss to Louis’ lips and lingering.

Louis was just tucking a piece of Harry’s hair behind his ear, when someone behind them coughed. “They’ll need you on stage in a minute.”

They pulled apart and for a moment Louis was worried that he hadn’t made it better for Harry at all, that maybe he should have waited to tell Harry after.

“Are you going to be okay?”

“Will you be watching?”

“I expect you to sing to me.”

Harry breathed out a laugh and nodded, resting their cheeks together and kissing Louis one last time as though he couldn’t help himself before he let go and ran towards the stage.

****

Louis didn’t have to worry.

Harry came on the stage as if he was made of stardust. Louis couldn’t take his eyes off him. He knew Harry would be brilliant, he _knew_. But he hadn’t been nearly ready to see him own the stage like this. Like he was the main act, not just the opener, strutting up and down, performing without missing a single beat and engaging the fans who cheered for him so loud it left Louis’ ears ringing. Louis could see the way Harry loved this, how he put all of himself into every song. The audience could too and ate it all up.

Louis really had been wrong back then. Because Harry was different from everyone else, not just another wannabe star after a quick buck. He was something special.

It seemed like the set was over too quickly or maybe Louis had just spent the past couple songs in a daze of what had happened, of the way Harry seemed to shimmer and glow and Louis fucking _loved_ him. 

When Harry walked off stage and leaped off the small set of stairs leading backstage, he crashed right into Louis’ arms.

“Louis!”

“You were amazing,” Louis buried his face in Harry’s neck covered in a thin sheen of sweat that smelled like rain and earth, and squeezed Harry tight. He felt like a livewire in Louis’ arms, thrumming and crackling. “They loved you. They all loved you so much. I was watching the whole time, you know? You were just… I couldn’t stop looking at you. You sounded so amazing. I love you.” Now that he’d said it, it was as though the floodgates had opened and he couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to.

Harry fisted the back of Louis’ T-shirt and hugged Louis hard. Then Niall came bounding in and threw himself at them both so hard they all stumbled, and Louis felt too small for his skin, feeling too much.

They had a shit ton of issues to work through and they still needed to talk, but right now, none of it mattered.

****

Louis was at his desk doing paperwork, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows when a food container landed on his desk.

“What—” He glanced up and met Harry’s tentative, almost shy smile. He couldn’t keep his own back. It was useless to even try. “What is this then?”

They still hadn’t talked it out, hadn’t had the time to smooth out all the rough edges, but Louis promised himself they would soon. He hadn’t spent the past couple nights googling relationship advice for nothing.

“I called Karen and I might have asked if you had your lunch already. Apparently, you said you were too busy to eat.” Harry leaned against the edge of Louis’ desk, unfairly long legs crossed at the ankle. Louis was too distracted to even acknowledge Harry’s scolding tone as he added, “You need to eat. You can’t just survive on coffee and tea.”

Louis shrugged, dragging his gaze off Harry’s legs. Had he not been at work, he’d have been asking Harry if he could touch. And Harry would have most likely said yes. The thought of it was still strangely staggering. 

“I’m still alive, aren’t I? What are you now, a nutritionist? Maybe a doctor, Dr. Styles?”

He was just teasing and Harry knew, was chuckling and pushing the food container towards Louis. He was kind of hungry, actually.

“I’m a baker. And you owe me for that time you snubbed my cupcakes.”

“You remember that, huh?” He opened the food container. It looked and smelled so good it made his stomach growl. “To be fair I was craving one so bad it made me even angrier at you.”

“We were a bit dumb.”

“More than a bit,” Louis admitted, his cheeks warm. Maybe they could actually make this work. Be there for each other without crashing and burning. “These aren’t even cupcakes. You’ve betrayed me. Got my hopes up for nothing.”

“It’s a gourmet burger.” Harry’s cheek dimpled. Louis wanted to press his thumb into it.

“I love burgers. Love you.” He stuffed his mouth full and ducked his gaze. Harry hadn’t said it back yet, but it was okay. Louis wasn’t in any hurry. He knew Harry liked him, that he cared so much he might as well have said it already.

“Figured you might.” Harry was wearing short sleeves and his arms were making Louis hungry for more than just the burger. “When we were in, uh… New York. When we were driving down the street there was a smoothie place there and the sound you made clued me in it might not be your thing.”

It did sound like Louis. He’d never thought he’d feel this pleased, this self-conscious in a strangely nice way, about someone noticing such a trivial thing about him.

“Thank you. It’s delicious.” A bit of a lettuce fell out of his mouth. It only made Harry laugh. 

“Chewing and talking at the same time. So you’re one of those people then?”

Louis took another big bite and chewed with his mouth open just because.

“I’ll leave you to it. I need to go talk to Charles anyway.”

Louis raised his eyebrows but Harry just pushed off the desk and shrugged. “‘S nothing. Just about Ed’s European leg of tour.”

Louis nodded and waved Harry off, allowing himself to glance over his shoulder to watch Harry walk away.

He had just finished his food when his work phone rang fifteen minutes later. He jumped a little and picked it up. “Yes?”

“Louis? Mr. Austin is expecting you in his office right now, if you will.”

“I’ll be there in a sec.” Not once in his life had Louis been called to his father’s office to receive anything but scolding. He couldn’t remember doing anything wrong, but at this point it was like Pavlov’s reflex to feel apprehensive and defensive at the same time.

He was about to knock on the door when he heard Harry’s voice through it. He let his hand drop, unsure if he should wait. He didn’t want to interrupt. He wasn’t eager to be talked down to in front of Harry either.

“You’re wrong,” Harry said and Louis just accepted he was eavesdropping now. He might as well make the most of it. “Louis did that. Nobody else. He did. He was the one who got me a better producer and swapped the styling at the last minute for those promo shots to make it more _me_. He was the one who got me to open for Ed Sheeran. He helped me finish a _song_. If it wasn’t for Louis, I wouldn’t even be in this position. I don’t understand how you don’t see that.”

Louis rested his palm on the door, his throat tight. Like, he knew Harry appreciated what Louis had done for him, but he just… no one had stood up for Louis to Charles before. Not like this. Not with so much _conviction_.

“Are you sure you’re talking about my Louis?”

“Pretty sure,” Harry said, his voice brooking no argument.

“And you want him? He’s not experienced. He still has a lot to learn.”

“I don’t care. I trust him to do the best job.

There was a beat of silence before Charles said, “I still have to discuss it with Karen, but… If that’s what you want. Don’t say I didn’t warn you though.”

“Thank you. But I won’t change my mind, sir.”

Louis decided he needed to stop being a creep and forced himself to knock.

“Yes, come in!” Charles called and Louis slipped inside the office, tying his best to look like nothing happened, really hoping Harry hadn’t said all that just because of them being kind of together now.

“Ah, Louis. Good. Good. Sit down.”

He did, right next to Harry. “So, what’s up?”

“Looks like I might have a proposition for you.”

****

“We need to celebrate! Preferably with that beer you got, Louis. That’s some good stuff. Good old lager, not that watered down swill. Bless ya,” Niall said, smiling wide and clapping Louis on the shoulder as he passed him on his way to go to kitchen to get more beer for all of them. It was weekend already and he still couldn’t quite comprehend what had happened. That he was here in the guesthouse just a few days later, his life different by a significant leap since the last time he’d been here.

“You’ve been working hard, Lou. I’m happy for you.” Zayn flicked Louis’ ear because he was a little shit and knew Louis would let him get away with it. 

“All right, all right. I’m brilliant. I know.”

Zayn perched on the sofa arm, his thigh barely brushing against Harry’s friend’s Liam’s arm. He looked a bit alarmed, but didn’t move away. Honestly. Zayn couldn’t ever help himself. It was funny to watch, the effect he had on people. Louis followed him and sat down, his shoulder pressed up against Harry’s.

“Yeah, you are,” Harry nudged Louis in the side, smiling all soft and warm. He made it hard for Louis to look away. 

“Best manager I could ask for,” Harry said in that heartfelt way of his that made Louis a little lost for words.

“Assistant manager,” Louis corrected, reaching out to grab the unopened bag of crisps because he needed to do something with his fidgeting hands, the urge to talk to Harry in private growing stronger by the second. He just… he needed to make sure Harry had said all for all the right reasons. “Kind of.”

“Manager in all the ways that count. You know Karen will give you free reign anyway.”

And Louis did know, had been there when Karen had told his father how capable Louis was and that yes, she’d absolutely back the decision of Louis slowly taking over looking after Harry. She’d be there to help him along the way, but he’d got promoted in a way that mattered. Not just a little more money, though that was really fucking nice too, but responsibility and hands-on approach rather than sitting behind a desk sorting out contracts.

“Aren’t you worried?” Louis asked Harry when Niall came back in and pulled in an armchair, distracting the others enough for them to not pay attention to Harry or Louis. “That it might… are you sure it’s a good idea? Did you mean it, or did you just—”

Harry took the bag of crisps out of Louis’ hands and threw it at Liam then stood up. Before Louis could even start to question his motives, Harry was pulling Louis up and calling, “we’ll be back in a bit,” as he dragged Louis to the backyard.

The sun was still high in the sky, glinting off the pool surface and making Harry squint. Louis wanted to reach out and smooth over the little crinkles by Harry’s eyes.

“Are you worried?” Harry asked and he still hadn’t let go of Louis’ hand. It was hard to think like this. “Why?”

“Because,” Louis glanced down significantly at their joined hands. “Harry, when you said all that to Charles, asking him to let me co-manage you… did you say that because of what we are? Please, be honest with me.”

“Louis, no. No. Even if nothing had changed, I bloody promise you it had nothing to do with it. I asked him because there’s no one else I want to have my back but you. This,” he pointed between them, “wasn’t a factor at all. You’re great at your job. I’d pick you over anyone else even if you’d never said yes.”

Louis swallowed hard and tugged Harry closer. Somehow, it made it easier to get the words out. “Promise?”

Harry squeezed his hand so tight it made Louis’ fingers tingle, his voice sincere. “I was the one who asked Charles for a meeting, actually. I did that before we even… you know. So, yes. I do promise. We can make this work, Louis. We really can. I just need you to tell me you’re in this too. The good and the bad.”

“I am,” He lifted his gaze to meet Harry’s. “I thought I’d spare you, and me too, from getting hurt if I said no, back in New York. I thought you’d have been better off without me—”

“Louis—”

“Wait, let me finish.” He took a deep breath. “I was scared. I still am, okay? Bloody terrified I won’t know what to do and just be a shit boyfriend without even meaning to, but I’m in this completely. I don’t want out. I’m gonna try my best. And I know it won’t be perfect, but when I saw you backstage, I… I don’t want you to have to do this alone. I don’t want to either. Just promise me… you’ll always talk to me when something’s bothering you. I do want to work at it, but I’ll need you tell me stuff first.”

“That goes both ways though. I don’t know what I’m doing either. We can just… we can be a fucking mess together.”

“Together then, yeah? A dream team?” Louis asked.

“Yeah,” Harry said, rubbing his thumb over the back of Louis’ hand. Louis wondered if he was even aware of it. If he knew how it made Louis feel, a little overwhelmed and short of breath. 

“I want this. All of it. All of you.” Harry leaned in to nuzzle Louis’ cheek. “I love you, Louis.”

“Harry.” Louis closed his eyes, pressing in close until their heartbeats met. He’d never thought he could crave someone like this. “Are we being insane? We’ll be working together even more closely than before. It might blow up in our faces.”

This time next month they’d be joining Ed on tour, and maybe they’d get sick of each other and Louis’ father would point at Louis and say, _I told you so. You can’t ever do anything right._

Louis knew all this, but somehow it didn’t matter anymore. He didn’t care what his father thought, because he’d never change. But Louis had, had even called his sisters yesterday even though it had been harder than he’d expected. Good things took effort. And he’d do all he could to keep this. 

“If it blows up, it blows up. We’ll deal with it.” Harry nosed at Louis’ temple like a cat, their cheeks brushing. “It’s worth trying.”

“I’m a slob,” Louis said, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“I like to clean.”

“I can’t cook.”

“You should try my fajitas.” Harry’s lips barely tickled Louis’.

“I sleepwalk sometimes.”

“I sleeptalk. We’ll be a right pair.”

Louis stroked his free hand down Harry’s side, lightly squeezing the soft spot above his hip. “I can be bossy and too loud.”

Harry rubbed his nose over Louis’. “And I can be sullen and stubborn. And… and I love you and you love me, so… we’re perfect for each other.”

Louis laughed and Harry did too, curling his arm around Louis’ waist, kissing him light and easy, teeth catching on lips. It was a bit messy, no finesse. Right now, it was _just right._

And he knew they’d fight sometimes and get annoyed with each other, but he wanted to hold onto this, to let Harry in and wriggle under Harry’s skin right back, no holds barred.

He didn’t want perfect. He wanted something _real._

****

_Two years later_

This was the third time it had happened. Louis needed to talk to Harry about this before it got out of hand.

“Harry, can you come in here, please?”

They’d spent the last few months on Harry’s sold out tour and it was better than either of them could have hoped for. But being home, back to their flat, was so bloody nice too. Or it would have if Harry hadn’t been trying to poison him. 

“What?” Harry shuffled into the living room bare-arsed, hair damp, a white towel slung around his neck. 

“Um,” Louis had been trying to say something. Right. Right? “Food. Yes. I’m… god, can you please put something on?”

“No,” Harry said, had the cheek to smirk and slide his hand down his damp torso, lips parting on a breathy exhale.

Louis looked down at the limp green leaf in his hand and shook it in front of him like a weapon. “Look!”

Harry just smiled. The bastard was thumbing over his nipples now, eyes growing heavy-lidded. Louis was trying to have an argument here. 

“Babe, I love you, but I can’t eat this.”

“But it’s healthy,” Harry said as though it excused him from ruining Louis’ food. He’d been pretending not to notice Harry sneaking vegetables into his food lately or bringing in fruit smoothies instead of Coke. Louis would never admit that he actually like those, not even if his life depended on it. Harry probably already knew anyway, that curly haired bastard.

“Harry,” he whined and let it fall down on his plate with a splat.

“We’re finally back home, all alone. Is that really what you want to talk about right now?” Harry asked, bit down on his lip and glanced down his body to where he was just wrapping his hand around himself, hanging heavy between his legs, growing steadily harder with each slow, tight stroke.

Maybe kale wasn’t that bad. Louis could get used to it. Harry had let him order pizza yesterday anyway. Compromises and all.

“Come here.”

“I don’t think so,” Harry said, thumbing over the tip. “Don’t think you deserve to touch me. I’ll just… get off. By myself. Right here.”

“What if I eat this kale right off you naked body?”

Harry barked out a laugh, loud and ridiculous, bending over with the force of it.

“I’ll put it all over you,” Louis added, low and sexy and trying to choke back his laugh. “Turn you into a spring roll. A Harry roll.”

Harry plopped down on the floor with zero grace, laughing like Louis was the funniest person in the world. He was still holding his cock, still hard. Louis honestly couldn’t imagine ever meeting someone who would fit him better. 

He slunk off the sofa and knelt down next to Harry, kissing over his dimple and the corner of his mouth and his teeth. “That turn you on? Organic kale?”

Harry let out an exaggerated moan, which turned into a snort as he burst out laughing again.

He was still laughing when Louis knocked his hand away and fisted his cock, squeezing. “You can’t even argue. Look at you. All hard up for me.”

“Always,” Harry said, bucking his hips to push into the tight ring of Louis’ fingers, his smile wide. “God, come on, let’s go to bed.”

“How adventurous.” He rubbed his thumb right under the tip, sucked a kiss into Harry’s arched throat.

“Want you to ride me.”

Louis had to grip himself through the sweats, sinking his teeth deeper into Harry’s neck until he was panting and helpless, pushing into the pain of it. 

“There we go,” Louis said, forced himself to lean back and let go, wondering if he’d ever get tired of this.

Harry looked at him, cheeks flushed and mouth bitten red and he knew that he never would. Not even when they were both too old and complaining about arthritis. Louis would still find enough energy to fuck Harry into the mattress and then cuddle him right after.

He stood up, breath hitching in his throat when Harry wrapped his arms around his thighs and nuzzled Louis’ crotch. Fuck, he was shameless. It was a good thing they lived in a house surrounded by really high hedges.

The light filtering in through the floor-to-ceiling windows hit the side of Harry’s face, made his skin glow and shine and caught on the tips of his dark lashes, turning them dark gold. Sometimes Louis would look at him and go tongue-tied, even now after years of being together.

“Babe, stop. Let’s just… bed.”

Harry smirked, lashes dipping down as mouthed at Louis through his sweats. “Oh yeah, gonna bed you.”

“Ridiculous.” Louis pushed his fingers into Harry’s long hair, damp and curling at the edges. “I love you.”

“Love you, Boobear,” Harry said, his smile turning soft as he rose to his feet and bit the tip of Louis’ nose. 

“I’m banning Lottie from talking to you ever again.”

“Can’t stop me.” He fisted the front of Louis’ T-shirt and tugged, his feet leaving wet footprints on the wooden floor as he dragged Louis to their bedroom.

“Wait, did we remember to buy more lube?”

“As if I’d put our sexy times in danger by forgetting,” Harry said, squeaking when Louis grabbed his bum and squeezed. 

“You’re a dork, Harold. Sexy times? Honestly.” He slapped Harry’s bum, Harry’s lips parting to breathe out a moan. He loved it. “God, your bum.”

“I’ve been doing squats.”

Louis grinned, slid his palms over the curve of Harry’s bum to grip right below and pull him up to his tiptoes. He distinctly remembered the way Harry’s thighs strained every time he ended up on top, rising and falling, blushing down to his chest as he bounced on Louis’ cock.

“Not those kind of squats, you pervert,” Harry said, breathless now when Louis gripped the back of his thighs and lifted him up. Harry jumped up and wrapped his legs around Louis’ waist, mouthing wetly behind Louis’ ear. Louis was going to bloody drop him.

“Says… says the person who… um, wanked me off on the plane under the blanket with… Niall sitting right across from us.”

Harry moaned, because yes, he really was a pervert. Good thing Louis was too.

He dropped Harry on the mattress, whipping his T-shirt over his head and letting it fall to the floor. Harry was stretched out on his back and pinching his nipples, drinking in every inch of Louis’ body as if he’d never seen it before.

“Says the person who came under a minute.”

Louis blushed and pushed down his sweats, his cock springing up. “Shhh, you promised not to mention it ever again.”

“I lied.” Harry gnawed on his bottom lip, releasing it all red and swollen and Louis wanted to rub the tip of his dick right over it right now. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I’ll bring home a puppy instead of a kitten.”

“Hey,” Harry drawled, pouting now.

Of course Louis wouldn’t. He was whipped. “So, which flavour?” He walked over to their dressed and opened the bottom shelf. It was full of various bottles of lube. Harry took his lube restocking very seriously.

“The candy one with glitter specks.”

“My ass is going to be covered in glitter,” Louis grumbled but pulled it out anyway. Harry was going to be the one eating it anyway.

“Yeah, it will.” Harry sat up, his abs scrunching with it as he shuffled back on their massive bed. His cock jerked and pulsed out a drop of precome under Louis’ steady gaze.

“You love it, don’t you?”

“Love your ass,” Harry breathed, giving himself a quick stroke as he watched Louis kneel up on the bed and crawl over to straddle him. “Give me my snack.”

Louis snorted and threw the lube at Harry’s chest. “Don’t objectify my ass.”

Harry smoothed his palms from Louis’ knees, up his straining thighs to cup his bum and pull him further up Harry’s torso. “Don’t listen to him, Louis’ bum. I love you.”

“You’re so dumb.”

“I’m going to eat you out until you cry.”

Louis’ breath caught in his throat and, “Fuck, yes. Okay.”

Fifteen minutes later he was sitting on Harry’s face and bracing himself against the headboard, sweat slicking his arched spine as he whimpered and pleaded steadily louder. Harry’s tongue was relentless, dipping in and out and stretching Louis so wetly his inner thighs were damp with it too, Harry’s fingertips just edging around his rim as he held Louis open.

“You’re so good,” Louis slurred, his legs shaking, his nipples hard and too sensitive when he brushed his fingertips over them. “’M close.”

Harry lifted Louis’ hips off, his tongue sliding out as he helped Louis roll off, his cock jerking with each pulse of his blood now.

The sight of Harry’s face, flushed and wet, his mouth swollen and pupils blown out, was almost enough to push Louis over the edge. If he wanted to last more than a minute, he really needed to stop looking at Harry right the fuck now.

“Do me, Harry, come on.”

“Patience,” Harry rasped, licking over his lips and closing his eyes at the taste. He always got off on this. “Want me to stretch you a bit more?”

“You’ve already fingered me too,” Louis argued, feeling like he was burning up to the tips of his toes, his every nerve ending alive and raw. He wanted Harry in, wanted to feel the almost-too-much stretch of it.

Harry held out his hand, breathing hard when Louis lifted it to his mouth to kiss the _I can’t change_ tattoo on Harry’s wrist and said, “Want to do it like this, love.”

He straddled Harry backwards and lifted up on his knees, reaching behind himself to grab Harry’s cock, pumping him slowly with his lube-slickened hand, teasing the tip over his rim until they were both a needy mess.

“Please,” Harry said, dragged his hand down Louis’ back and hips and bum so softly and with so much feeling. Louis could tell Harry’s hands apart from everyone else in the world even blind and deaf.

“Patience,” Louis echoed at him back even though he was already pushing the tip in and rocking his hips down because he was fucking hungry for it, wanted Harry in as deep as he would go and ride him bareback until they were both sweaty and breathless and coming hard.

He let his head hang down, his chin tipped to his chest, gripping Harry’s calves as he worked himself slowly down. Harry was big, thick enough to make it burn so good it made Louis tear up. 

He was halfway down when Harry hit his prostate and then he just forced his hips down, whimpering and gasping for breath when Harry gripped his waist and pumped his hips up to meet Louis halfway.

****

Harry didn’t think he’d last. Not with the sunlight bouncing off Louis’ sweaty back and the sight of him stretched open like this, rocking up and down, whining and wriggling as if he couldn’t get enough.

It was always so good with Louis, getting better with each time until it would probably kill Harry sooner than old age. What a way to go though.

He sat up and wound his arm around Louis’ waist, pulled him up and nudged him forward on his hands and knees so Harry could snap his hips into him, because Louis’ thighs had been starting to strain with the effort.

“You’re beautiful,” Harry said, leaning over to nuzzle the sweaty nape of Louis’ neck, pushing his hips cock in deep and grinding, his hipbones digging into the soft flesh of Louis’ bum.

“You too.”

“You can’t see me.” He opened his mouth over Louis’ skin and licked out, just tasting him.

“I just know.”

Harry leaned back again, massaging Louis’ bum covered in specks of glitter. He loved being this close, knowing he could do anything and say anything and Louis wouldn’t think he was stupid. If he had to pick between Louis and being a star, he’d always pick Louis. In a heartbeat.

“I love you.”

“Want to see you.” 

When Harry pulled out they both groaned, hands already reaching out and sliding over sweat slicked skin, mouths meeting as they fell back on the mattress with Louis underneath him.

Harry reached down to push back in again, his mouth dropping open with how good it felt.

“Love you,” Louis said, scratching down Harry’s back and tilting his head to the side so Harry could kiss behind his ear. He loved getting that spot kissed so much.

“Gonna make me come.”

“Close too,” Louis managed, his voice soft, threadbare as he bit Harry’s shoulder.

It only took him four more thrusts before Louis was crying his name and shooting up between their bellies. He was so vice tight around Harry now he could barely even move, his toes curling into the mattress as he pushed himself in impossibly deeper, the knot of white hot pleasure in his belly growing tighter and tighter until it snapped loose. He came inside Louis, pushing in and out into the slickness until it got to be too much.

He collapsed on top of Louis, his mind blank to everything but Louis’ smell and the way he breathed, the way his skin felt under Harry’s mouth.

He kissed him, long and deep and wet, trembling.

They untangled so Harry could pull out before they came rolling into each other again for a cuddle, sweaty and gross and deliriously happy. 

“’M sleepy now,” Harry said, pecking Louis’ lips.

“You’re awful,” Louis said even though he broke into a yawn the very next moment.

Harry smiled fondly and caressed the dip of Louis’ lower back.

“You know, you’re pretty brave to fall asleep next to me. I once drew a penis on Zayn’s forehead.”

“I know you did. He warned me.”

“I’m dangerous,” Louis said, all rumpled and soft and fucked out. 

“You are. Very.” He’d happily wake up with a dick drawn on his face if it meant getting to fall asleep in Louis’ arms. “You make me so happy.”

“Harry,” Louis pressed his lips to Harry’s forehead and squeezed him closer. “You too.”

And they did, was the thing. They got annoyed sometimes but they never fought. Not seriously enough that they wouldn’t be back and in each other’s arms five minuets later. Harry didn’t hide that, refused to pretend to be someone he wasn’t to the rest of the world.

Louis was the yin to his yang, the compass to his ship. The day he’d crashed into him on the mountain was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

He rolled on his back, looked up at the plastic stars he’d glued on the ceiling for Louis’ last birthday and thought, _yeah, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me._

_I’d love you in every universe._

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This bloody fic got so long. If you reached the finish line, honestly congratulations. You're a brave, brave soul.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are my life force, cuties! I'm also on [Tumblr](http://www.donotdialnine.tumblr.com/) .


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